


Gigue in St. Petersburg

by Vik_Mombuchika



Series: My Baby Shot Me Down Trilogy [1]
Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Also a dork, Character's Name Spelled as Viktor, Honestly They Are Both Depraved, M/M, Mafia AU, Mafia Katsuki Yuuri, Mafia Victor Nikiforov, Viktor is SickTM, Viktor is shook, Yuuri is a Damn Tease
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-21
Updated: 2018-10-14
Packaged: 2019-06-30 19:49:25
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 8
Words: 38,205
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15758505
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Vik_Mombuchika/pseuds/Vik_Mombuchika
Summary: Viktor Nikiforov, the pakhan in St. Petersburg, didn't fight fate. He danced with it.One night, fate takes the form of a slightly intoxicated young man dancing in the middle of the Emperor, Viktor's favourite nightclub, one of the many trying their fortune by offering themselves to the Living Legend's hands and wishes.Chris Giacometti has seen the scene unfold under his eyes one too many times, and yet, this time it's different, this man is different, and the stakes might be a lot higher than everyone anticipated, for everyone involved.But after all, this is fate, and once more, Viktor Nikiforov will dance with it on the melody of a Duet.-"Anything for you,zolotse."





	1. 01 - Contact

**Author's Note:**

> This AU is the result of my and @eroslike's ravings on Tumblr, when creating a Mafia verse for our Tumblr roleplays. Indeed, this Viktor would have never seen the light had she not sent me that one Mafia-themed asked one night, and this story would have been much shallower had she not bombarded me with great plot points which we proceeded to first flesh out, then eviscerate, together.  
> She is the one I have to thank for gifting me with the very germ of this Viktor, who grew on me, and with me, for the last year or so. In the end, the world we first created together became just too much for me to keep secluded in a corner of my mind.  
> Then, it was my friend's Ruby turn to listen to my constant ramblings about this AU, and to walk hand-in-hand with me as I, for the first time, managed to finish writing a longfic. It has been a good ride, my friend, you, me, and beer, vodka and San Simone. And there is still a lot to come.  
> Finally, Nora, Tamy, Andrea, Raina: there is no word big enough in English nor Italian to express how grateful I am to all of you, you brought to life these characters with me with cosplay.  
> And Marghe, the mother of young Viktor's nickname, and the one who gave Vik and Yuuri life on a sheet of paper: I can only hope to live up to your Dima, when the time comes for me to return the favour.  
> This story, and the ones that will follow, are for all of you.

January 6th, 2017

Tokyo, Japan

Fushin-an Teahouse

23:49

“Whatever happens, let me handle it. Stay behind me and don’t worry. I won’t let him lay his filthy hands on you, brother.”

Yuuri Katsuki swallowed and nodded, his mind too engulfed in thoughts of what he might be in for if a certain pair of hands actually got their hold on him. A night of passion, or a ferocious murder? Considering who they were dealing with, it would probably be both, at the same time.

A set of footsteps could be heard outside the room in which Mari, kumicho of the Katsuki family, sat with his brother, and Yuuri tensed as a geisha slid the door open to reveal a man in his late twenties, clad in a purple shirt, grey tie and matching grey suit that perfectly complimented his short silver hair. A sharp jaw and straight nose brought out the man’s perfectly white smile, which could only be rivalled by his eyes, of a blue so captivating that one could almost think it was a shame the man kept the bangs on the left side of his face long enough to partly cover one of those shiny lights.

Behind him stood his entourage, and it wasn’t difficult for Yuuri to identify Chris Giacometti, the blonde Swiss bodyguard, or Yakov Feltsman, former mentor and current counsellor to Viktor Sergeevich Nikiforov, pakhan of the Solntsevskaja Bratva, whose fame was as great as young was his age.

Yuuri forced himself not to stare directly in the pakhan’s eyes, for he knew that it had been those eyes that ruined him, when he first faced the man known as the Living Legend. He lowered his gaze, settling it no higher than Nikiforov’s mouth, and suddenly realized he had just grossly miscalculated.

There was no mistaking the scar on the neck of the young pakhan. It was fresh, barely a month old, and Yuuri _knew_ , because it had been him who left it, with the butterfly knife Viktor Nikiforov always carried in the right pocket of his pants, the knife that was now safely kept in Yuuri’s breast pocket. Yuuri knew about that knife, and about all the other weapons Viktor hid on his body, under all those layers of elegant clothes. The butterfly, the four throwing knives, the handgun which the pakhan had never unholstered… Yuuri knew about those, and about a lot of other things that were aptly concealed under that tightly pressed suit. The scars, for example, and the tattoos, marking a body that seemed to have been sculpted by the Gods…

Yuuri desperately tried to pry his mind away from such thoughts, from memories of a night that still traitorously kept him company when, alone in his bed, he allowed his right hand to travel south. A shame it was too late to stop a faint blush to spread on his cheeks, if the voluptuous voice with which the pakhan spoke, suggestive and heavy in its thick Russian accent, was of any indication.

“ _Hisashiburi da na [Long time no see]_ _, Yuuri_.”

Immediately Mari, truthful to her promise, came to her brother’s rescue.

“Let’s cut to the chase, Nikiforov. I have little time to spare, especially for the likes of you. Why are you here, and what do you want?”

The pakhan’s mouth opened in a wolfish grin, and Yuuri had to force himself not to look at it, lest he find it _beautiful_.

"Oh, have you heard the latest news, Mari-sama? Apparently, people are trying to kill me in my sleep." Mari’s jaw tensed as Nikiforov’s eyes moved from the kumicho to her brother. "But you know, I'm not averse to mixing business with pleasure. Perhaps we should discuss this over a date."

\---

**01 – Contact**

_Friday night and the lights are low_

_Looking out for a place to go_

_Where they play the right music_

_Getting in the swing_

_You come to look for a king_

October 28th, 2016

St. Petersburg, Russia

The Emperor – VIP lounge

23:42

“I think you should date him, Chris. It’s not that I don’t appreciate how _dedicate_ you are to me, my friend-”

There was something inherently sultry in how Viktor played with the word _dedicate_ , but Christophe Giacometti, 31, bodyguard and confidante to the young Nikiforov pakhan, paid it no mind. It was no big secret that the Swiss sometimes came back from his boss’s room far longer in the night and far more dishevelled than strictly required by his bodyguard duties, after all.

“-but it’s quite obvious at this point that the pining is mutual, so I see no real reason for you not to at least hook up.”

Chris’s eyes followed the young waiter’s ass as he swayed sexily to slip through the dancing crowd populating the floor of the Emperor, after leaving their drinks on their tables.

The Swiss sat on the back of the low couch Viktor was slouched in, and leaned forward to grab his drink, brushing Viktor’s shoulder, just as Viktor raised his vodka. Glasses clinked, and Chris smiled.

“I think I am quite satisfied with the situation as it is, to be honest." He smiled at Viktor. "Great ass, perfect legs, but God, is there any brain to go with them at all?”

“Does one even need it for a good rut in the sheets?”

“Now, you have a point here, but you know that I’m a romantic at heart, Vik. I wouldn’t be satisfied. Besides, if I am in need of just some relief, I know where to go.”

“The Blue Nautilus?”

“Hah! See? That’s why I say you have literally no taste in women!”

“I’d remind you that I’m currently negotiating to _buy_ the place, Chris.”

“I know, and it’s gonna be one great investment once you own it and put Lilija in charge of Human Resources, if you catch my drift. But right now… nah.”

“I thought at least some of the strippers could rank as hot, even if not as gorgeous.”

Chris shook his head.

“Viktor, Viktor, you really _are_ hopeless. You should just go back to focus on pretty boys or ravishing men in their forties. That’s where your expertise really lies, sweetheart.”

Viktor burst out in a laugh.

“Oh, no, I’m interested! In a purely academic sense, but I really am. Come sit with me, Chris, my bi guru, enlighten me. Show me the ways of heterosexual tastes.”

Chris got up and circled the couch.

“Alright.” He agreed as he sat down next to his boss. “Time for some het exercise. I point out a girl, you rate her, 1-10. But I already know, you’re a lost cause. You’re not gonna get even close.”

“Try me.”

“Very well. What about that one.”

“5?”

Chris looked outrageously offended.

“5?! Come on, Vik! That’s an 8, _at least_!”

“Her ass is ugly.”

“Not _everything_ in the world revolves around ass, Nikiforov.”

“You’d be surprised.”

“You refuse to understand. I’m stopping right now.”

“Chriiiiiiiis!” Viktor lamented, leaning against the Swiss.

“Alright, second chance. The one going for the drink.”

“9? If I’m to judge by her tits.”

“Fake.”

“What?”

“All tits and lips, and no legs or hips or anything else really. They are obviously fake, and considering what she has possibly paid for them, she should have found someone to do a better job at it.”

“Well, I might agree with you on that.”

“You’re learning. Next one, over there.”

“10.”

“Look man, I get where you come from. She looks like a beautiful boy, so I’d still bang her where she stands, but that’s the other side of my bisexual tastes speaking. It’s not, you know, _feminine_ beauty. Doesn’t count.”

“Ah.”

“Next one… There, on the dance floor. Next to the Asian boy in the white shi-”

“Bloody _hell_.”

“Indeed. Look at Miss Gorgeous, and that cleavage…”         

“Who the fuck cares about tits, Chris, I’m talking about _him_.”

Chris decided he could spare a moment to take his eyes away from Miss Gorgeous on the dance floor (and from the Asian boy as well, he _did_ look ravishing with those slicked back, jet black hair, tight white shirt left partly open on his chest, and even tighter black jeans -the only thing that almost, but only _almost_ , ruined the picture were the blue glasses framing those big eyes, but after all, those could be easily get rid of), and take a look at his boss. What he found out, was that Viktor Nikiforov looked completely _stricken_.

“Wha- oh come on, Viktor, we have a game going on! Focus!”

“Too late, _mon ami, désolé [my friend, I'm sorry]_.” Viktor downed his glass of vodka and stood up, patting Chris on the shoulder. “We’ll continue this another time. I got something to do.”

 _More like ‘someone’_ , Chris thought, but said nothing, just sipped his drink as he watched Viktor making a beeline for the dance floor, tie already loosened around his neck. A predator on a hunt.

Chris just hoped the young Asian Viktor had spotted and identified as his prey for the night had enough backbone in him to keep up with the pakhan, although from what the Swiss could gather from where he sat, the young, innocent face seemed to promise a ‘no’.

Oh well, Viktor surely had more than enough _bone_ to put in the other’s _back_ , anyway, if one could catch Chris’s drift.

\-----

Yuuri Katsuki let his body abandon itself to the music and alcohol as he danced alone on the floor of the Emperor. His knowledge of Russian was still fairly limited after less than a month in St. Petersburg, a significant part of which was spent attending university classes in English, and surely not sufficient to make out the words of the song, but the rhythm was catchy, and he had spent one too many years studying different dance styles to find himself on a shortage of moves to pull out.

So, when he felt a pair of hands slipping on his hips and spotted the heavy ring on the right index finger of the man who had approached him from behind, he knew his training had paid off.

“I hope you don’t mind me.” A husky voice murmured in his ears, only a faint trace of Russian accent in the way it leaned on some vocals of what would otherwise be a perfect English. “I saw you dancing alone and thought you could use some company.”

 _There we go. It starts._ Yuuri thought as he kept moving his hips sensually under deft hands that encouraged him as they moved not-so-subtly to the front of his tight black jeans. _And I didn’t even have to openly make the first move. Perhaps this is gonna be easier than I thought._

“And what makes you think I might enjoy _male_ company?” he rebuked, deciding to give the infamous pakhan in St. Petersburg at least a semblance of resistance.

A rich laughter rang in his ears. Surely it must have been the alcohol’s fault, Yuuri rationalised, he had drunk enough to loosen himself in preparation for this and it could be expected to affect him at least a little- for he couldn’t help but find that laughter incredibly melodious.

“Really?  You had Miss Gorgeous over there ogling you for a good five minutes and you didn’t spare her a single glance -and she, according to my friend and guru of bi tastes, is an 11/10 on a het scale. Now, either Chris’s radar is completely broken tonight, or you’re as gay as they come.”

The man’s mouth had gotten closer to Yuuri’s ear as he went on talking and God, was that voice _gorgeous_ , Yuuri thought. Promising all sort of filthy things as the Russian accent grew thicker, things Yuuri -the alcohol, it was all the alcohol’s fault, and 24 years spent a virgin- found himself suddenly interested in at least _evaluating_.

Yuuri took a small step back, and pressed himself against the other man’s body, as the Russian danced with him with a grace that rivalled Yuuri’s own.

“I’m Yuuri.”

“Yuuri.” His name rolled off the other’s man tongue in a way that made Yuuri feel quite bothered -perhaps he _had_ exaggerated with the alcohol. “You can call me Viktor.”

The music went on, and they kept dancing. Close, far too close for Yuuri’s comfort and peace of mind, and had it been any other situation, Yuuri would have graciously waltzed away. Tonight, however, he stayed, letting Viktor’s hands move from his hips to explore his body.

And Yuuri could already feel his body responding, both to the intimate touches that went in all the right places, and to the thought of the gorgeous man who was doing this to him. He had yet to turn around and actually _see_ him, but he didn’t really need to do so to know how utterly ravishing Viktor Nikiforov looked. He had seen photos, after all, of young Viktor with long hair as well as newer ones, after the change of style that coincided with the man's rise to the pakhan title. Yuuri remembered one in particular, of Viktor standing in the middle of this same dance floor, surrounded by a carnage, blood staining his hands, his face, his suit, his hair, grinning like a madman. He remembered it because it created such a stark contrast with the other photos, of a younger Viktor smiling sweetly, with that long cascade of silver hair that made him look like a fairy-tale prince.

The contrast was stark indeed, and the thought that _those hands_ were now running all over his body sent shivers down Yuuri's spine. He wasn’t sure what kind of thrill this qualified as.

A sensuous move of Yuuri’s hips, and he was suddenly grinding his ass against Viktor’s crotch, deciding he might as well let the alcohol do his job and dull his sense of shame as he felt the physical proof of the other man’s appreciation growing more and more _prominent_ as they kept dancing.

Viktor’s hands were now travelling up and down his chest, his mouth a breath away from Yuuri’s neck as his fingers skirted over the hem of Yuuri’s shirt, just shy of the skin the two open buttons left exposed, and Yuuri was distantly aware that they might be giving quite the show (but then again, Viktor Nikiforov was known for such plays in the club he considered his own personal hunting ground); but as Viktor’s hand brushed over his nipples through the tight-fitting white shirt he wore, he found that he did not care all that much, after all. Viktor’s hands repeated the motion, and Yuuri realized he had been whining.

“Mmmhh… you have such a beautiful voice, Yuuri.” Viktor licked the shell of Yuuri’s ear, as one of his hands wandered down Yuuri’s chest and belly, stopping at his belt. “I’d love to hear more of it.”

“H-here?”

Viktor’s hand moved down to cup Yuuri’s crotch, and suddenly their dance turned into something a lot more steamed as the pakhan started grinding purposefully against him in the middle of the dance floor, as if trying to demonstrate what they might as well be doing in a matter of hours -or a matter of minutes, depending on whether Viktor decided to bring Yuuri home, or drag him to the nearest restroom.

And God, did that thought rile him up. Yuuri tried to make excuses in his mind by telling himself he was a creature of flesh and blood, after all, and that Viktor Nikiforov was notoriously one of the hottest bachelors in St. Petersburg, not to mention a rumoured sex fiend. So he could be excused for letting his sex drive rear its head for once, Yuuri thought as he abandoned himself to the Russian’s expert touches.

A hand wandering on Yuuri’s chest, shamelessly teasing Yuuri’s nipples, which now prominently showed under his white shirt, the other defiantly massaging Yuuri’s inner thighs without shying away from his crotch, Viktor kept up their steamed dance, his now unmistakable erection rubbing against Yuuri’s ass through their clothes. As the Russian mouth descended on Yuuri’s neck to nibble on the white skin, Yuuri’s peripheral vision was invaded by a mass of silver, the infamous trademark Nikiforov hair he had so far only seen in photos, and, as he craned his neck to give Viktor’s mouth better access to his skin, his fingers found their way through it.

_Pure silk._

It was pure silk and suddenly Yuuri’s mind tried to picture how it would feel to latch both hands into that hair as he had Viktor Nikiforov on his knees, sucking him off. His length twitched at the thought - _blame it all on the alcohol, it’s just the alcohol speaking_ \- and a sigh escaped Yuuri’s lips, as he grinded back with a genuine eagerness that was not there before. His tight jeans were definitely starting to feel a bit too tight on the front.

Viktor must have felt the sudden change, for his mouth was soon back to Yuuri’s ear, whispering in it in thick Russian accent.

“Let’s find somewhere more private.”

As smooth as they had gotten there, Viktor’s hand retreated from his body as the pakhan stepped back. Yuuri almost let out a whine in protest, but Viktor placed a hand on Yuuri’s shoulder, and quickly navigated him through the crowd to the restrooms near the VIP area and inside one of the stalls.

Then, in one swift motion, Viktor had locked the door behind them and pinned Yuuri to it, and was suddenly ravaging his mouth with his own lips, tongue, teeth. In the middle of that assault, Yuuri felt silver strands tickling his cheek, and his hands found their way again in Viktor’s hair, pulling as if he was holding on to it for dear life. And perhaps he was.

An eternity later -or had that been just a second?- Viktor had to pull back to breathe, and Yuuri could finally _watch_ the infamous pakhan.

Grey shirt open with the light blue tie hanging loose, parted lips swollen by the ravenous kiss, silver hair as messy as they could be, still entangled in Yuuri’s fingers, Viktor Nikiforov looked a lot more like the sex fiend he was rumoured to be than the refined and wicked mafia boss Yuuri had learned to know from the photos his family’s intelligence had provided him with.

And then, just like that, Yuuri Katsuki, newly-appointed Yakuza member on his first mission, found himself staring in the eyes of his intended victim. And as he lost himself in those blue depths, he realized his mouth had been hanging open, and instinctively put it to good use.

“Suck my dick, Viktor.”


	2. Character Study

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Yuuri wonders whether demanding a mafia boss on his knees is the best way to propose as a sugar baby.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First of all, thank you all for all the kudos and the lovely comments! In particular:  
> @DMP1013 and @satansdattir: I'm glad to hear that this first chapter has drawn your attention, and I hope the new one keeps keeping you involved in the story!  
> @anon: I wouldn't put it past vik to stab ppl with a butter knife and then pout playfully about how the blade didn't work as well as the meat knife did  
> -  
> Also! If you're on Tumblr and you'd like to chat, feel free to hmu at [@vik-mombuchika](http://vik-mombuchika.tumblr.com/)  
> And for those who'd like to directly pester the Pakhan himself, [@thepakhaninstpetersburg](https://thepakhaninstpetersburg.tumblr.com/) is the RP and ask blog everything was born from! The infamous Viktor Sergeevich Nikiforov himself will be answering your questions in person, though, so... do it at your own risk! ;)

October 29th, 2016

St. Peterbsurg, Russia

The Emperor – restrooms

00:08

“Suck my dick, Viktor.”

The words came out of Yuuri’s mouth so blunt and utterly _filthy_ that Viktor felt the strain in his loins turn into a torture. And may the Lord be praised, was that a sweet torture.

It had been quite a long time since he last heard such words directed at him. _Suck my dick, boy. Work that shaft. Open your mouth, my sweet Viten’ka, and make sure not to let a single drop go to waste._ Ah, it had been a long time indeed, since anyone had addressed him like that, instead of just dropping to their knees before him, or spreading their legs for him without him even having to ask. Viktor had missed it.

He smiled, taking Yuuri’s chin between thumb and fore finger, then kissed Yuuri’s lips once more, almost chastely, and felt him whimper, even though the Japanese’s hands never left his hair. It was starting to get painful, the kind of painful that turned Viktor on.

Yuuri was staring at him, wide-eyed as a deer in the headlights. He had talked out of pure instinct, and when he had realized what he had said, he had frozen in shock, preparing himself to face Viktor Nikiforov’s wrath.

_Well done, Yuuri. Not even an hour into your job, and you already fucked up._

Now, as the pakhan brushed Yuuri’s lips with his own, Yuuri almost expected to feel one of the knives Nikiforov had always been known for sink in his side, or something like that, the only fitting response to Yuuri's outrageous request.

Instead, he felt a murmur against his lips.

“ _Vsjo radi tebja, zolotse [Anything for you, darling]_.”

Viktor Nikiforov dropped to his knees.

Yuuri watched, enraptured, still waiting for cold metal to sink smoothly into his flesh, even when the only smooth thing he could actually feel were Viktor’s hands trailing up his thighs, and the pakhan's lips sinfully tracing the outline of Yuuri's cock through his jeans. Yuuri’s fingers dug deeper into Viktor’s hair, and he was lost.

Hands on Yuuri’s hips, ignoring whatever might be on the restroom’s floor that would stain suit pants that were worth more that Chris’s waiter’s monthly wage, Viktor dedicated himself to worshipping Yuuri’s dick.

He started with leaving a series of open-mouthed kisses on it through the fabric of Yuuri’s jeans -tight, so tight, fleshing out Yuuri’s pert ass so perfectly Viktor couldn’t wait to rip them off and get to see the _real deal_. He heard Yuuri whimper above him, demanding more by pulling Viktor’s head closer to his core, and he smiled.

“So hungry…”

He kneaded Yuuri’s inner thighs with his thumbs, as he took the zipper of Yuuri’s jeans between his teeth and pulled it down, partly revealing the bulge under it, still trapped in black underwear. The belt and upper button still in place, Viktor toyed with Yuuri, teasing his twitching length with his tongue, taking advantage of the gap left by the opened zip.

“F- fuck…”

One of Yuuri’s hands disentangled itself from Viktor’s hair, moving to unbuckle the belt, but Viktor stopped it mid-air and brought it back _where it belonged_.

“Keep them here, _zolotse_ , I’ll take care of everything.” Viktor smiled, looking up at Yuuri, and being gifted with what he immediately labelled as the most beautiful show he had ever seen -honestly, not even the Bolshoi’s best ballets could rival the sight of this boy coming undone, glasses askew, messy black hair that had once been slicked back falling down to frame deep chocolate eyes, lost in the throes of desire.

Viktor’s tongue lavished attention on Yuuri’s length, dampening the fabric of his underwear, and when he was finally satisfied with the desperation in Yuuri’s whimpers, when he brought him to the point he was tugging so hard at Viktor’s hair in protest that Viktor thought he might tear them off (in any other circumstance, Viktor would have been terrified of something like this happening, but tonight he couldn't bring himself to care), only then he decided to grace Yuuri with some relief by unbuckling his belt and undoing the button of his pants.

Yuuri was immediately pushing Vitkor’s head back against his crotch, guiding Viktor’s mouth to the leaking tip of his cock, that showed from under the waistband of his boxers.

“V-Viktor…”

And Viktor complied with the unformulated request, taking the swollen tip between his lips and massaging it with his tongue.

It took all of Yuuri’s willpower not to come then and there, and Viktor must have felt it, because he pulled back.

“Not yet, Yuuri. I’m just getting started.”

Viktor kissed the underside of Yuuri’s shaft one last time through his underwear, then pulled it down, finally taking in the sight of his exposed length. He smiled, then pressed his cheek to it, murmuring against Yuuri’s crotch.

“You really are beautiful, Yuuri.”

“Viktor…” Yuuri’s breathless complaint, something between a growl and a whine, was accompanied by a twitch in his length, and stole Viktor a chuckle.

“ _And_ eager.” He teased, not making a move to take things further than massaging Yuuri’s inner thighs.

Yuuri growled again. This was not how he had envisioned this situation going, it was all backwards, but somehow he _liked_ it. Something had clicked between them - _the alcohol, that’s what clicked, Yuuri, come on, don’t be an idiot_ \- and his intuition was telling him that following his more primal instincts might be the right way to go about this whole situation.

“You said you’d do anything for me.”, he whined.

“I did.”

“Then suck my dick, like I asked you.”

Viktor’s mouth formed a surprised O before opening in a smile that might have been sweet, had Yuuri not known him for one of the sickest man to walk this Earth.

“You’re right, _zolotse_ , forgive me, I _did_ promise.” The pakhan said as he started to kiss Yuuri’s length almost apologetically. “Silly me.”

That sweet, wicked smile still on, Viktor took Yuuri in his mouth.

He would have time to regret it later, Yuuri thought. He would have time to think about what went wrong sometime between the moment Viktor’s hands had found Yuuri’s hips in the middle of the dance floor of the Emperor, to when they had ended up in a restroom stall, Viktor kneeling in front of Yuuri, swallowing his length with an ease that could only come from years of practice. Later. Later Yuuri would wonder why he had let Viktor have his way with him so easily -it was all part of the plan, in a sense, getting Viktor interested in him enough to have another meeting, and then another, and then as many others as it took for the Russian to finally lower his defences enough for Yuuri to take advantage of it… but really, ordering a mafia boss on his knees and having him give you head in a restroom stall wasn’t exactly the standard way of _seducing_ him, right? And yet, for some unfathomable reason, it was working, if the way Viktor had started moaning around Yuuri’s length was of any indication.

As he lavished his attention on Yuuri’s length, licking and sucking expertly on it, Viktor felt Yuuri’s grip on his hair loosen and tighten in response to his ministrations, setting the pace by guiding his head back and forth, until Viktor swallowed him whole and let him fuck his mouth as he pleased.

And it felt good, good in a way Viktor hadn’t felt in a long time. His own length ached, but it was fine. He would have time to get his due later. Right now, all that mattered to him was the feeling of Yuuri’s cock sinking deep in his throat, as the Japanese thrusted into his mouth without restraint. Viktor would have gladly moaned Yuuri’s name had his lips not been occupied otherwise.

A sharp tug at the bangs falling over his left eye, and Viktor found himself looking up, meeting Yuuri’s gaze with blue eyes clouded in lust, lips swollen as Yuuri’s length plunged deep in his mouth.

“[Kami, you look so good…]” Yuuri murmured, lost to the sight under him, and Viktor didn’t really need to know Japanese to catch the drift of what Yuuri was saying.

Spurred on by the praise, he gripped Yuuri’s thighs and pressed his mouth to Yuuri’s crotch, deep-throating him eagerly as yet another moan tried to escape his lips. He couldn’t take this much longer, he needed some sort of relief, or the ache between his legs would kill him.

Still gripping Yuuri’s thigh with his left hand, he let his right move to his own throbbing length, not even bothering to undo his pants. Slipping his hand inside his damp underwear, he palmed himself to get some semblance of relief before he focused his efforts back to Yuuri. He lifted Yuuri’s leg and placed it on his shoulder as he took him deep, sucking and massaging the underside with his tongue.

It was too much. The tight grip of Viktor’s hand on his thigh, the warm feeling of his mouth engulfing his cock, the sight of those lips wrapped around his length, the thought of having Viktor Nikiforov, the Living Legend, the pakhan in St. Petersburg, kneeling before him, almost choking on Yuuri’s dick… it all went to Yuuri’s head, and sent him tumbling over the edge.

“V-vik…tor…!”

A strangled gasp was the only warning, before Viktor felt Yuuri’s body tense and a hot liquid hit the back of his throat. He swallowed it all, willing himself not to cough -was he out of shape? It had been _ages_ since he had last coughed when giving head… and possibly a relevant while since he had last given head at all, now that he thought of it- and licked Yuuri clean.

Yuuri, on his part, was reduced to a panting mess against the door, and Viktor had to prevent him from sliding to the floor as he got back to his feet. As soon as he was back at Yuuri’s level, he cupped the Japanese’s face.

“Kiss me, Yuuri. I want you to taste yourself in my mouth.”

Yuuri did it.

It was slow, and sloppy, and Yuuri was still riding the high of his orgasm to care about how his hands were still tangled in Viktor’s hair.

“Did it feel good?” Viktor asked as they parted from the kiss, both in need of breath.

“I… Y-ye…”

Yuuri’s wits were slowly coming back to him, and he suddenly realized what he had just _done_.

 _Kami, I fucked up. Fucked up_ bad _._

“Tell me, Yuuri, do you know who I am?”

There it was, the infamous Nikiforov smile, the one that had the smell of blood on it.

 _“You must be careful, Yuuri. He is_ sick _. Twisted. This is not just about business for him, he_ loves _it. Loves torturing people who get on his wrong side. Did you see Mok Seung-Gil’s body? He chopped his fingers off, phalanx by phalanx, then his dick and balls, when the man was still alive. And Seung-Gil had spilled_ everything _, long before Nikiforov got his blade on him."_

There was no point in lying at this rate, Yuuri doubted ignorance counted as an excuse when faced with the pakhan, and besides, it would contrast with Yuuri’s cover as well.

Yuuri nodded.

“You’re Viktor Nikiforov. The pakhan.”

“Mh. So you’ve heard of me.”

_“He is sick.”_

_“Whatever you do, Yuuri, be careful.”_

 “I… I did my readings, before coming here.”

“And why did you come here, Yuuri?” Viktor almost purred as he pronounced Yuuri’s name, shifting his weight and planting his leg between Yuuri’s. The Russian was still hard, Yuuri could feel it distinctly against his hip.

He stuck to his cover as if it was his last line of defence against that smile.

“I’m- I'm an exchange student. International Relations.”

“You seem pretty well informed, for a university student.”

“Well, I thought that if a nobody like me wanted to make himself a real career in diplomacy, he might as well go search for relations where the _real_ power lies.”

The corner of Viktor’s mouth went up as he studied Yuuri, trapping him against the door with his body, one thumb still tracing Yuuri’s jawline.

“I see... So you didn’t come here by chance, did you, Yuuri? You were _searching_ for me.”

A nod.

“What’s your full name?”

“F-fukuhara.”

“Well, your studies paid off, Yuuri Fukuhara. You found me.” Viktor’s hips moved, the bulge in his pants poking Yuuri’s side. He leaned in to whisper in Yuuri's ear. "So tell me. Does it feel good, to have the Living Legend suck you off in a club restroom?”

The words came out of his mouth before he realized his mind had conjured them up, and for the umpteenth time that night, Yuuri Katsuki prayed his Gods to grant him a quick, painless death.

“C-considering it was you, I actually expected to be offered a vodka first, at least.”

Viktor stalled, then burst out laughing, taking a step back.

"You're definitely full of surprises, Yuuri Fukuhara, I like it. So, what's your plan now? Should we go back to the VIP lounge, or will you let me take you home? I must tell you, the vodka selection at my Neva house is far better than anything they can serve you here, and personally, I don't mind suffering through more of this-" Viktor's eyes went down at the evident tent in his pants "-if it means vying for a greater pleasure, in the end."

Now that his nostrils weren't assaulted by Viktor's intoxicating scent, Yuuri found it easier to set his brain to function, and finally started to weigh out his options.

Apparently, Nikiforov wasn't going to have his head –or dick, or fingers, or whatever else- for what had gone on between them. Also, he didn’t seem in a hurry to do something about his erection, which, judging from what Yuuri had seen and _felt_ , must have been hard enough to pain him considerably at that point. The pakhan was still eating Yuuri up with his eyes, but made no move to touch him.

_"He is sick."_

Oh, Viktor Nikiforov surely was sick. But something told Yuuri it was a lot more complicated than that.

Perhaps...

_Perhaps I have a chance to put this mission back on track._

"Actually, I was planning on going home." Yuuri said, tucking himself back into his pants –the thought of Viktor's neglected erection had reminded him of his own exposed nudity. " _My_ home."

"So, you're not going to stay."

"I have classes tomorrow." Yuuri stated the Lamest Excuse™ with (what he hoped was) perfect ease. It helped that he had finally managed to unlock the door of the stall. "But I'm sure you have your ways of finding me again, if you're interested in... pursuing this further."

The pakhan was still staring at him, no sign of making a move, so Yuuri decided he could dare a little more. He took a step forward, cupping Viktor's chin.

"It felt really good, having your mouth on me." He murmured in Viktor's ear, then kissed his cheek before swiftly retreating out of the stall. "Goodnight, Viktor!"

In his hasted retreat, Yuuri almost didn't realize he had hit someone while rushing out of the restrooms.

Chris Giacometti watched the young Japanese disappear in the crowd, then turned to inspect the stalls.

"Vik, are you ok?"

Viktor Nikiforov stepped out of one of the stalls, sporting a painful erection and a sweet smile on his face.

"Ah, Chris, there you are. I might need your help tonight, my friend."

"Vik? What happened with Mr. Asian?"

Viktor brought his index finger to his lower lip.

"I'm not sure yet, but I am pained with the worst and the best blue balls of my life, and I need you to research a certain Yuuri Fukuhara, International Relations exchange student."

_You are the dancing queen_

_Young and sweet_

_Only seventeen_

_Dancing queen_

_Feel the beat from the tambourine, oh yeah_

_You can dance_

_You can jive_

_Having the time of your life_

_See that girl_

_Watch that scene_

_Dig in the dancing queen_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hereby declare my deepest sorrow and regret for Viktor's suffering. Viktor, I do root for you, bby.  
> Any thoughts, ideas, comment? Hit me (and Viktor) up at [@vik-mombuchika](http://vik-mombuchika.tumblr.com/) and [@thepakhaninstpetersburg](https://thepakhaninstpetersburg.tumblr.com/)!


	3. Reprise

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> To every action, a reaction.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Once again, my thanks to all of you who left a kudo and/or a comment!  
> @DMP1013: Oh, Vik is sure to have a lot of fun... as for Yuuri, well. He has his own game to play... if he can.  
> @DragonTrainer & @MagicalMirai: I hope I didn't make you wait too long! I forgot to mention it, but since for the first time in my life I have all the fic already written down, I'll be uplodaing a new chapter each week :)  
> @Nads: Viktor was a bit too dumbfouded to react last chapter, but now it's his move...  
> @Phoenix Song: One thing is sure, what Viktor Nikiforov wants, Viktor Nikiforov gets. The stakes are quite high in this game though, so I'm not promising anything.

November 5th, 2016

St. Petersburg, Russia

Tavricheskij Garden

9:01

_There lived a certain man in Russia long ago_

_He was big and strong, in his eyes a flaming glow_

_Most people looked at him with terror and with fear_

_But to Moscow chicks he was such a lovely dear_

Yuuri let Booney M's captivating tune steal his mind away as he ran along his favourite path through the Tavricheskij Garden, the one that flanked the lake for the longest stretch, before taking a long turn to circle the football field on the south-eastern side, leading him back to Tavricheskaja Ulitsa.

There was no denying he had been listening to that song with a much different ear as of lately. Ever since that night at the Emperor, to be precise. Memories of the events that occurred after Viktor Nikiforov had joined him on the dance floor were still mostly hazed –thank the alcohol for that, and unironically so- but there was no way Yuuri could listen to _Rasputin_ again and not think of the pakhan. Substitute 'Moscow' with 'St. Petersburg', and 'chicks' with 'lads', and the first four lines of the song gave you back the perfect picture of the Russian boss.

_The eyes, especially the eyes._

Yuuri had dreamed of those eyes again, last night, waking up bothered and in definite need of a cold shower. A week had passed from his first (and currently last) encounter with Viktor Nikiforov, and the sight of those eyes was still the most vivid memory he had of that night. The way Viktor had looked up at him, the unadulterated desire clouding those blue orbs as he wrapped his lips-

_Really?!_

Yuuri groaned, changing the song on his phone and deciding he could put a little more sprint in his run.

 _I really should take_ Rasputin _off._ _It's starting to get seriously distracting._

He sprinted forward, as the path he was following led him back to the eastern side of the lake.

A week had passed, Yuuri focusing on his university classes, studying for exams, living the life of the exchange student to the fullest, if anything to keep up his cover to the best, and still no sign from Nikiforov after Yuuri had left him, unsatisfied, in a restroom stall at the Emperor.

_I really don't know what I was thinking, leaving him like that._

Disappearing after kissing him goodnight on the cheek as a thank you for the mind-blowing blowjob he had given Yuuri and telling him to come searching for him if he was interested in pursuing things further… not exactly the orthodox way of proposing to become a mafia boss's sugar baby. Perhaps Yuuri was betting on the wrong horse, perhaps he had been overestimating himself when he had decided to trust the spark he thought he had seen in Nikiforov’s eyes. Perhaps he just had to come to terms with the fact that, once the alcohol had worn out of his system, and he looked at things realistically, there was no real reason for the pakhan’s interest to be piqued by some stupid, intoxicated Asian boy who did not know which his place was.

 _I have to go back to the Emperor. Drink less, and play my part better. He_ did _like me, that was for certain, at least physically, so maybe if I manage to go back to the original plan and actually_ stick _to my role, it's still gonna work._

Yes, the original plan. Inviting Viktor Nikiforov into his pants, let him take what he wanted, for as long as he wanted, until Yuuri finally got the right chance to end the pakhan's life for good. Yuuri shuddered at the thought, both at the idea of finally being in the middle of his first assassination mission, and at the thought of what it might _cost_ him.

It wasn't his innocence, no, he didn't really much care for that, it was something more physical… more _primal_. Knowing he would have to give his body away for the first time to someone else, knowing that it would _hurt_ , knowing that Nikiforov would give no thought to Yuuri's pain, only to his own pleasure.

Knowing that that night, in that stall, it had been the exact opposite.

_It's not going to happen again, Yuuri, stop dreaming. And keep your eyes on the road, for Chrissake._

Still engrossed in his thoughts, Yuuri almost hadn't realized he had reached the end of the path. He slowed down, letting himself fall on the wilting grass. Snow wasn’t expected to come soon, that year, but the sky was still cloudy. Yuuri lifted his eyes to the sky, hoping the weather did not decide to play tricks on him, and that was when a big mass of brown fur bounced on him and threw him to the ground in a happy, barking frenzy.

_A dog._

Yuuri sighed in relief, relaxing his right hand, which had instinctively gone to the small gun he kept hidden under his baggy sweatpants – _just in case._

"[Well, hello to you too.]" Yuuri greeted the dog –a poodle- in his mother tongue (poodles wouldn't mind a little Japanese, Yuuri decided, even big, hyperactive Russian poodles with no boundary issues and no owner to keep them on a tight leash, like this one).

Indeed, the dog didn't seem to mind, for he graced Yuuri's face with a few enthusiastic licks, which only served to elicit a laugh from the Japanese.

"You must forgive my Makkachin. She is an old lady, but she still has the spirit of a puppy."

_That voice._

Yuuri's mind went blank, and it was only years after years of training-induced self-control that stopped Yuuri from doing what the rest of his training had taught him to do when faced with a threat: lunge for his weapons.

Slim legs appeared into Yuuri's line of sight at his right as Viktor Nikiforov whistled to call his dog back to his side. Makkachin trotted back happily, letting her owner pet her behind the collar.

" _Hisashiburi [It's been a while]_ _, Yuuri._ "

From where he lay on the floor, Yuuri quickly took a look around.

One, two, three, he counted possibly four men around them that most likely made up Nikiforov's security (they were well disguised indeed, so Yuuri was not certain about at least one of them being actually bratva) –plus Giacometti of course, the well-known bodyguard and right-hand man.

"Did I say that right?"

Above him, Nikiforov was offering Yuuri his hand.

"...Your accent sucks." Yuuri managed to mumble, avoiding the other’s gaze even as he accepted the hand he was offered.

Nikiforov lifted him up like he weighed little to nothing, laughing merrily.

"I'm still working on that, I admit."

After a week, Yuuri Katsuki found himself face-to-face with Viktor Nikiforov for the second time in his life, and he struggled to find his words.

When the pakhan stepped forward, invading Yuuri's personal space, the Japanese instinctively retracted.

Nikiforov grabbed him by the arm, keeping him in place.

"She made a mess of your beautiful face." he murmured, their noses almost touching, as he brought a handkerchief to Yuuri's face to wipe it clean.

 _He's close_.

Too close for comfort, but once again, Nikiforov’s eyes found Yuuri's, and Yuuri was suddenly unable to move.

"There. Much better."

Nikiforov smiled, stepping back. Yuuri wondered if he had just imagined the pakhan’s thumb tracing his lower lip. Makkachin barked somewhere behind them.

"So, Yuuri." Viktor put a hand on Yuuri's shoulder, guiding him back to the path. "You don't seem to have classes on early Saturday mornings. Walk with me a little?"

_Classes...?_

_...OH._

_"I have classes tomorrow.",_ he had told Nikiforov that night. _Friday_ night.

"W-we had a… a seminar. A visiting professor..." Yuuri suddenly found his voice. At least no one could say he hadn’t even _tried_.

"Yuuri, Yuuri. It's fine, really. It’s my fault, actually." Viktor told him as they started walking down the path that led back to Tavricheskaja Ulitsa. Had Yuuri not known otherwise, Nikiforov might have sounded apologetic. "I mean, I didn’t even offer you a drink, that was so inconsiderate of me."

"It's not... I mean, you didn't..."

"Let me make it up to you, Yuuri. I'll take you out for dinner tonight. I presume you don't have plans already...?"

"I..."

"Great. It's decided, then." Nikiforov smiled as they emerged from the park onto the street. A black Mercedes E class was parked in front of them, and a man in a suit stepped out to open the back door for the pakhan.

"I'll text you the time and place, _zolotse_."

With a kiss on the back of Yuuri's hand, Viktor Nikiforov was gone, Giacometti leading Makkachin inside the car before sitting in the passenger's side in the front.

Then, as the Mercedes got lost into traffic, Yuuri felt his phone vibrate.

_19.30_ _воскресенская наб 14_

_In front of the coffee museum_

_Casual dress code is fine_

_But if you want to put on those black jeans im not going to complain of course_

_They looked flattering on you_

_Btw_

_You can call me vitja ;3_

A few hours into the afternoon, Yuuri was staring at his black jeans like they had personally offended him, while his phone screen was still on, open on a chat Yuuri had promptly named “Vitja”.

\---

_I'm looking for a place_

_I'm searching for a face_

_Is anybody here I know_

_Cause nothing’s going right_

_And everything's a mess_

_And no one likes to be alone_

November 5th, 2016

St. Petersburg, Russia

Voskresenskaja naberezhnaja

19:37

“I am sorry for the delay, _zolotse_.”

Yuuri looked at the man driving the pink Cadillac in semi-disbelief. He had been warned that Viktor Nikiforov’s style may come off as extravagant from time to time, but really? Yuuri could understand the black V-necked t-shirt under a sand dollar jacket, and the light blue, slim-fitting pants that came with it…  but the blue-to-pink, golden-framed shades on Nikiforov’s head really bordered on the excessive side of extra. Even though the overall picture seemed quite… fitting, for the pakhan. (The pink Cadillac still remained a no-goer, though, Yuuri was adamant on that.)

“I had to deal with some pests that just didn’t know when to call it quits, this afternoon, and then I had to shower, of course.”

_Of course._

As a side note, Yuuri was pretty sure that ‘calling it quits’ probably meant something along the lines of ‘surrendering to torture and spilling everything’ in Viktor Nikiforov’s personal vocabulary. The _pests_ the pakhan was talking about (or the pieces that were left of them) were probably happily sinking in the Neva right now.

Yuuri looked at the river flowing majestic on the other side of the road, and shivered.

“Cold?”

Nikiforov’s voice brought Yuuri’s attention back to the man in front of him -and the pink Cadillac, _oh Kami, that pink Cadillac_.

Yuuri shook his head.

“This coat is warm.”

“Good. This year is gifting us with a warm autumn, but the air is still pretty chill.” Viktor agreed, opening the door on the passenger’s side for Yuuri. “Get in. I had a table booked for eight p.m., we might still make it in time, if traffic is on our side.”

“Where did you book?” Yuuri asked as he took his seat.

“Sunday Ginza. It’s a cosy little place on Krestovskij Island. Ever been there?”

“Uh, not really. Krestovskij is quite far from here, isn’t it?”

“Precisely.”

With a U-turn that should have probably cost him his licence, Nikiforov pulled them back into traffic. “We’ll have to take Troitskij bridge and cross all Petrogradskij Rajon.”

“Shouldn’t we warn them that we might be running somewhat late?” Yuuri tried to keep up the conversation, ignoring the sleek black car that had started following them. He was ready to bet his ice skates that Chris Giacometti was behind the wheel of that car.

“Nah. If we’re late, so be it. They’ll keep the table reserved, of course.” Nikiforov took a side glance at Yuuri. “Relax, Yuuri. We’re in no hurry. I made sure I had things settled so that my empire won’t crumble overnight, and your exams and courses are not going anywhere for a night. We can enjoy ourselves.”

 _Easier said than done_ , Yuuri thought as the Cadillac swerved not-so-placidly through the evening traffic, the lights of the city coming to life one by one as they drove on. St. Petersburg was getting ready for his Saturday nightlife.

Yuuri dared a look at Nikiforov and found the pakhan humming to himself as he kept his eyes on the road, serenely relaxed in his seat. Nikiforov must have felt Yuuri’s eyes on him, because he immediately looked back, gifting Yuuri with a tranquil smile.

“Tell me something about you, Yuuri. How long have you been here? Are you getting acquainted well to Petersburg?”

Thank Kami he and his family had worked on giving Yuuri the best cover possible, detailed to the point of paranoia, because as they crossed Troitskij bridge and drove through Petrogradskij, Nikiforov kept asking and asking, with an interest that was hard to call anything other than genuine. Yuuri found himself talking of the campus, the courses, his struggle with Russian (he had studied some at home, he told Viktor, but when he came here he found out it was barely enough to buy himself a bus ticket, and definitely not enough to understand directions).

“Don’t worry, it will come to you in time. I can help, actually. You can consider me your personal native Russian speaker. So feel free to _abuse_ me, darling.”

Yuuri was sure that there was an obvious double entendre hidden behind the malicious wink Viktor sent his way.

They finally got to the Sunday Ginza (incredibly on time, for the record), and Yuuri was surprised at how the conversation seemed to keep flowing naturally between them.

“To be honest, I understand you. I’m not originally from Petersburg either, you know? I moved here from Moscow when I was sixteen.” Viktor told him as he helped Yuuri choose from the menu.

They actually served sushi too -Vitkor admitted to having chosen that place because they also had Japanese dishes, in an effort to give Yuuri a taste of his own home, but Yuuri objected that he could have all the sushi he wanted once he got back to Tokyo, so now he would rather take his chance to try as much Russian cuisine as possible; but he was thankful to Viktor for the thoughtfulness he put into choosing the place, and that was possibly the straightest truth that had come out of Yuuri’s lips that night so far.

“Is it true what they say?” Yuuri asked, as his thoughts went to a specific piece of information he had had the chance to read on the young pakhan, after their orders had been placed. “That your father sent you here to conquer the city for him?”

It was the first time that night that they had talked so openly of Viktor’s activities, and Yuuri saw him tense considerably. Viktor’s hand went to his right wrist.

“Yeah.”, was his curt reply, and Yuuri wondered what kind of button he might have pushed.

 _A weakness_ , he thought, dutifully registering the information in his mind as he took the chance offered by Viktor’s silence to take a look at their surroundings.

The Sunday Ginza was indeed a cosy setting, even if not downright romantic, furnished in modern taste in mostly whites, light blues and browns. They were sitting indoors, but Viktor had made sure the table he booked was close enough to the ample glass windows that gave to the outdoor terrace, offering them a good view of the small beach separating the restaurant from the waters of the Yacht Club’s little port. With the sun already settled, it was mostly dark outside, but the lights from the docks, half-hidden behind groups of rushes, contributed to create a tranquil atmosphere. In that setting, even the blue-pink shades now resting on the table in front of the pakhan didn’t seem _too_ out of place, yet neither did Yuuri himself, in his white t-shirt, navy sweater and blue jeans.

A waiter came with two wine glasses and the bottle of white Viktor had ordered, and once they were served, the pakhan lifted his glass to propose a cheer.

“To your stay in Petersburg. May it be as profitable as you planned it to be, and more.”

Yuuri didn’t really have the heart to reply, so he limited himself to clinking his glass with Viktor’s.

“Was it confusing for you too, when you came here?” he finally asked after he decided the silence between them had stretched long enough, and he couldn’t take Viktor looking at him with that sweet smile any longer.

“Oh, I was scared shitless.” The pakhan chuckled. “But I had Makkachin with me. She was just a puppy, back then, and I remember in the first months I would have barely left home had she not been so adamant on having to go to the park every single day to play in the snow.”

“But you weren’t alone. I mean, you had…”

“I had Yakov, yes. He’s been my mentor and my counsellor all these years.”

Yuuri hoped Nikiforov wouldn’t pay too much mind to how much information Yuuri seemed to possess about him, or that he ruled it out as the result of Yuuri digesting as much gossip on him as he could -indeed, St Petersburg’s suburbs overflew in tales about its Living Legend, so perhaps it wasn’t too unlikely for Yuuri to know this much about the pakhan.

“He taught me all he knew and always stayed by my side, but it wasn’t the same, you know?” Viktor went on, surprising himself at the ease with which he had started baring his heart in front of an almost complete stranger. “I felt like I had been thrown out of the nest all of a sudden.”

Viktor’s eyes fell on the bracelet on his right wrist again. This was a subject he had never really breached, not even with Chris (not so openly at least, even though he was certain his bodyguard, who had held a younger Viktor in his arms far too many times in the years he had been serving the Nikiforovs, knew about the young pakhan’s insecurities), but as he kept searching for those big, chocolate eyes, the words came out of his mouth easily.

“I… I think I know how you feel.” Yuuri tentatively agreed. “It’s scary being all alone. And St. Petersburg is a big city, one could get lost in it.”

“Beautiful too, don’t you think? I don’t think may sceneries can rival the show of the Neva when you walk along the embankments.”

“It’s… majestic, you’re right.”

“But then again, you don’t really have time to pay any mind to the scenery when you’re too busy trying to make sense of the public transport lines.”

Yuuri smiled, playing with his fork, and it was the most beautiful thing Viktor had ever seen, fuck the Neva and its embankments.

“It still takes me 20-30 seconds to read the names of the underground stations to be honest. I still mostly rely on vocal announcements, and counting the stops, my Russian is _that_ bad.”

“If it’s of any consolation, I got lost five times when I took the underground for the first time, and Russian is my native language, which I can read ever since I was, like, four?”

Yuuri allowed himself a little chuckle at the pakhan’s expense, and Viktor would have been ready to sell his soul to the devil if that meant he could make it so that Yuuri never stopped laughing.

“I kept asking left and right until a woman took pity on me and literally walked me to the ballet studio I was searching for. On a side note, she thought I was a girl, but I guess that was because of my hair, I kept it long at the time.”

Yuuri swallowed the _I know_ that almost made it to his lips in another polite laugh, which died in a gulp when Viktor’s hand crossed the table to gently brush against Yuuri’s own.

“This all to say you don’t have to worry, Yuuri. It was terrifying for me too, at first, but it gets better with time, it always does. I promise.”

And indeed, their date too got better with time (yes, by that point Yuuri had started accepting this was a full-fledged date), Viktor amiably chatting away Yuuri’s nervousness as they waited for their courses, letting a companionable silence fall between them as they moved their attention to their food instead.

Viktor’s hand found its way across the table more than once, and Yuuri let him, fighting down the butterflies in his stomach every time he felt that gentle touch on his skin.

As they finished their desserts, Viktor relaxed back into his chair, ordering a round of vodka Yuuri wasn’t able to talk himself out of  (“It’s to make up for the one I didn’t offer you at the Emperor”, Viktor had insisted, causing the most beautiful blush to spread on Yuuri’s cheeks, and God, he wanted to worship those cheeks in kisses, but restrained himself).

It would have been all too easy, Viktor thought, taking Yuuri to the Emperor again, or inviting him home, and getting him drunk enough to rile him up… and probably risking a repetition of what had happened the last time. Oh, the tete-a-tete with his own right hand, that night, had been _intense_ , to say the least, Viktor getting off to the memory of how Yuuri’s dick had felt in his mouth, figuring how wonderful it might have felt if it had been Yuuri’s fingers wrapped around his length, and not Viktor’s own… but something in the brief -all too brief indeed- exchange they had that night had told Viktor there was something more to this young man than appearances let on.

There was feistiness, true, but there was softness as well, a kind of bashfulness, innocence and eroticism mixed up in creating a flavour that was uniquely _Yuuri_ , a concoction that had Viktor hooked from the very beginning. And he wanted to explore that, he wanted to know what kind of man Yuuri Fukuhara was beside the dancing queen persona that he had reserved for Viktor’s eyes that night at the Emperor.

What he found out kept surprising him to no end.

Stripped of the shield of drunkenness, Yuuri Fukuhara was one of the sweetest creatures to walk this earth. And yet this wasn’t all, Viktor was sure of that, there was something that went even beyond Yuuri’s Eros persona, as Viktor had dubbed it in his head. It was just a glimpse, nothing Viktor could quite point his finger on, but there was that spark in Yuuri’s chocolate brown eyes, that light that flared up to life when Yuuri was presented with a challenge (“Mh? Is this brand too strong for you?” Viktor had asked when Yuuri had started coughing after taking the first sip from his vodka -the pakhan had already downed his own glass as if it were water-, to which Yuuri had responded by downing the rest, it all leading to a coughing fit that left Viktor laughing heartily as the poor Japanese glared at him). There was that unwavering resolve with which Yuuri faced those challenges (“I’ll get used to drinking it like I’m getting used to reading signs in Cyrillic, just you watch!”).

It all was spiced up by Yuuri’s adorable coyness, that threatened to hide the strongest aspects of his personality to an inattentive eye.

“I can help you with that. I can also offer you a much better selection, actually.” Viktor said, taking Yuuri’s hand and bringing it to his mouth, brushing Yuuri’s fingertips with his own lips. “But we’ll keep that for another time, _zolotse_. Let me take you out for a walk, it clears your head when you start to get tipsy.”

“I’m not…” Yuuri protested, but as Viktor got up from his chair and invited him to do the same by holding out his hand, he started reconsidering his options. “Ok, maybe a little.”

Viktor smiled, waiting for Yuuri to wrap himself up in his coat (“Dress up, it’s gonna be quite chilly, especially if you’re not used to this climate.”)

Then, he led Yuuri out through the glass window to the porch, where a cold breeze greeted them. Viktor felt Yuuri shiver beside him.

“Cold?”

“A little.”

Viktor wrapped his arm around Yuuri’s shoulders.

“Better?”

“Better.”

Yuuri nodded, shifting closer to Viktor’s warm body. Vodka surely excused him for finding this position extremely comfortable, and Viktor’s scent strangely calming (he smelled like sea breeze, Yuuri decided, and sea breeze reminded him of Hasetsu, that was why).

“It’s… really beautiful here.” Yuuri admitted as they watched the light of the docks shining between the rushes, the sound the waves breaking on the shore lulling them. “So quiet and calming…”

“It is, right? In summer it’s even better.” Viktor agreed, resting his cheek on the top of Yuuri’s head. “I should take you back here in June, or July, when we can dine outside, and then we can take a walk down the beach... How long will you be staying in Petersburg?”

If inside his mind Yuuri had felt like he had been thrown under a cold shower, he hoped that nothing had transpired on the outside.

“I- I don’t know. As long as it’s needed, I guess.” _As long as it takes for you to let your guard down enough for me to kill you._ “I have to take a few exams here, and I need to pass them with the best grades.”

“Well, I hope it takes you long enough.” Viktor went on, seemingly unaware of Yuuri’s agitation. “I really want to take you back here in summer. And to a lot of other places, too.”

“I- I’d love it.”

Yuuri blatantly ignored the part of his mind that told him this was anything but a lie.

“Good.”

Viktor held him close as they watched the moon’s reflection dancing on the water for a while, until Yuuri lost his battle against the Russian climate.

“You’re shivering, Yuuri. Let’s get back inside.”

They did, and as Viktor drove them back in mostly companionable silence, Yuuri had to force his mind away from the thought that this had been by far the best date he had ever been on.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Did I mention that I love how extra Viktor's Cadillac is?  
> -  
> If you're on Tumblr and you'd like to chat, feel free to hmu at [@vik-mombuchika](http://vik-mombuchika.tumblr.com/)  
> And for those who'd like to directly pester the Pakhan himself, [@thepakhaninstpetersburg](https://thepakhaninstpetersburg.tumblr.com/) is the RP and ask blog everything was born from! The infamous Viktor Sergeevich Nikiforov himself will be answering your questions in person, though, so... do it at your own risk!  
> -  
> Lyrics from:  
> Booney M - Rasputin  
> Avril Lavigne - I'm With You


	4. Aftermath and assessment

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> They don't know it yet, but fate is unfolding in a slip of tongue.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I really want to thank each and every one of you for showing your interest in this fic, but a special hug goes to @satansdattir and @DMP1013... I hope you will like this chapter as well!  
> A lot of thanks to @burningmidnightoil too, for all the lovely comments. We'll get to the point where things won't be as idyllic as they currenty are, but before that... well, you'll see.  
> Indeed, things are evolving quickly between Yuuri and Viktor, and I really hope I managed to do the characters (even if this is an AU) justice, with all the complex dynamics that go between them!  
> Plus, it's time to lay out some more backgorund as to their families' enmity!

Years later, if one were to ask Yuuri Katsuki when his mission had started going downhill, he would say it was the moment Viktor had kissed him goodnight on the knuckles before driving away in his pink Cadillac the night of their first date, leaving him in front of his house. It had all flown naturally from that, and it had been in that moment that Yuuri had stopped drawing a clear line between what his role dictated and what his instincts told him.

It wasn’t hard justifying the message of ‘ _Goodnight, Vitja’_ Yuuri sent the pakhan afterwards (it was only polite, considering Viktor had paid for everything -considering Yuuri was supposed to be _seducing_ him, and considering Viktor had explicitly _asked_ to be called like that). It was easy explaining away the butterflies in his stomach when Viktor’s reply came only a minute later (‘ _Спокойной ночи золоце’_ , it said, ‘Goodnight, my dear’, and it was followed by a ‘ _I hope you dont mind me helping you with some russian exercise’_ ). It was only normal for Yuuri to feel excitement at seeing his plan finally set into motion, after all… wasn’t it?

They kept messaging each other in the days after that, their chats mostly consisting of Viktor sending Yuuri Russian phrases as an exercise, asking Yuuri about his day, and finding rather roundabout ways to tell him about his own (from the looks of it, that week Viktor Nikiforov had managed to buy a stripper club, drove away a band of punks that were causing quite the unrest in the north of the city and was currently dealing with yet another group raising problems near Lomonosov; in doing so, he had reached a personal weekly kill count of five, even though two of them had been in the middle of a quick shootout, to which the pakhan had seemingly taken part with his throwing knives -Yuuri had been halfway through writing Viktor he was curious to see him in action, but then decided to keep this for later, when they would meet face to face- and the man they held in one of their houses was soon to become the sixth).

All in all, Yuuri wasn’t too surprised to find the infamous pink Cadillac waiting for him in front of the university gates that Friday afternoon, its owner comfortably leaning against it in a navy blue shirt and light grey pants, eyes half-hidden behind the trademark blue-pink shades.

“Yuuri!” he called, ignoring the attention his appearance was drawing.

Apparently, it was a good thing he had been actually taking lessons at the local university, living the live of an exchange student to the fullest, for apparently Viktor had this habit of researching people he had an interest in.

Yuuri quickly excused himself, earning strange looks from the group of students he had been talking to (ah, if only those innocent souls knew what the ring at Viktor’s right index finger meant and why there was a black car parked some meters behind them, Yuuri thought, the looks he would get would be _a lot_ different), and joined Viktor on the other side of the road.

“How have you been, _zolotse_?”

“Well, it’s… been a tiring week.”

“Not _too_ tiring, I hope. I have a… ah, appointment, tonight, but I managed to squish in some free time. I wanted to take you to the Embankments… You know, the Lejtenanta Shmidta, near Blagoveschenskij bridge. It’s a nice walk, and we can also visit St. Izaak’s Cathedral… What do you say?”

Yuuri didn’t think about it too long. He had some assignments due for Tuesday, but he hadn’t come to St. Petersburg for its university, after all. And, as that stupid part of his mind that spoke in his friend Phichit’s voice remarked, he would have given Viktor the same answer anyway.

“Of course, I’d love to.”

\---

_Our lives are stories waiting to be told_

_In search of silver linings we discovered gold_  


November 11th, 2016

St. Petersburg, Russia

Leijtenanta Shmidta Embankments

17:56

“I remember coming here with my father and his partner once, when I was little.” Viktor told Yuuri as they walked placidly down the sidewalk stretching along the course of the Neva. “I spent hours watching the seagulls flying over the river… and then I had Genesis -my father’s partner- tell me everything about the port of Odessa -he comes from there, you know? He’s Ukrainian.”

“You must have a thing for ships and ports.”

“You think so?”

“Well, you took me to that restaurant near the Yacht Club… Now here, and you keep talking of ports…”

Viktor smiled.

“I guess you’re right. I find there’s a sort of romanticism about them. All those ships coming and going, each with its story, each carrying its secrets... They touch base and go, taking a whole microcosm of life within them…”

“Mmmh… you’re right… there _is_ a sort of romanticism to it, when you look at it like that. I come from the seaside as well, but I never really thought about it. But the seagulls… they do remind me of home.”

“So you’re not from Tokyo.”

Yuuri shook his head.

“I moved there for my studies, but I come from the countryside.”

“Do you miss it? Your home?”

Yuuri thought about it.

“From time to time. I haven’t been home _home_ for so long I kinda got used to it. What about you? Do you miss your home in Moscow?”

“My home is here now.”

“So you’re not planning on going back to Moscow sooner or later, now that you’re…?”

“Now that I’m pakhan?”

Yuuri nodded.

Viktor shook his head.

“My kingdom is here.” he said with a frown, stopping to face the Neva. “You know how they call me, don’t you?”

Yuuri swallowed.

“The pakhan in St. Petersburg.”

Viktor nodded.

“ _Pakhan v Peterburge_. There’s a reason for that. I chose this city just as this city chose me. Here I created the foundations of my power, and I did it on my own, without my father’s backup. That’s why when the Triad tried to double-cross us, they failed, even if they managed to frame my father. I’m sure you heard the story. I had my own network, here, people who would remain loyal to me no matter what. St. Petersburg is where my power lies.”

Yuuri’s eyes never left the Neva as Viktor reminisced about his father’s fall. Yuuri knew the story, he knew it all too well.

All the careful planning his sister had put into designing that scheme with the help of the Guang-Hongs, all the effort for avenging their uncle, the beloved Katsuki Hisato, who had fallen to his death in Detroit, a casualty caught in the crossfire of the war between the Nazis that ruled the underground of the city at the time, and the group of bratva-affiliated Russians who were trying to expand their influence on the American soil. A meeting of dramatic chance, indeed, for the Katsukis had nothing to do with the clash between the Nazis led by Eric Ayers and the Solntsevskaja Bratva affiliates answering to the pakhan Sergeij ‘Sephiroth’ Nikiforov, Viktor’s father.

Indeed, Katsuki Hisato had been a simple bystander, whom a trick of a cruelly playful destiny had placed on the scene of the shootout, but he was also a Katsuki, and the Katsukis were one of the leading families of the Japanese Yakuza. And the Yakuza had no one else but the Nikiforovs to hold responsible for the death of one of their own, as Eric Ayers’ Nazis were just a sad band of punks, and to be honest, none of this mess would have happened had the Bratva stayed in Russia and minded its own fucking business in the first place. Plus, Detroit was indeed interesting territory.

So, the Katsukis had plotted the Nikiforovs’ demise, an agenda which, once set into motion, had led to Sergej Nikiforov’s imprisonment in Siberia, and his son Viktor’s rise as pakhan at the incredibly young age of 26. Which in turn brought Katsuki Yuuri, younger brother to the kumicho Mari, and currently seeking official acceptance into the ranks of the Yakuza, to St. Petersburg, on his first assassination mission.

“Yeah, I’ve heard… stories. About the night you came back.”

“Oh, you mean that little show at the Emperor?” Viktor chuckled. “After my father’s imprisonment and the attempt on my life, I had to stage my own return from the dead. You’ll see, Yuuri, in this world, it’s mostly a matter of staging things in the right way. That’s what we are, performers on a stage. With the difference that real performers can go back to being themselves after the curtain falls. For us, however, the curtain rarely falls, if it ever does.”

_And yet, now off comes the mask_ , Viktor thought, as he contemplated Yuuri’s face, and found his gaze reflected back. _And how easily he makes it happen_.

Part of him wanted to move down and kiss those lips, but another part of him just wanted to stay there, spectating his own soul in Yuuri’s eyes for the rest of his life.

“I’m not complaining though.” He finally said with a smile, taking Yuuri’s hand and resuming their walk down the embankments. “I kind of like this part I’m playing, even though it gets quite tiring, from time to time.”

Yuuri just followed Viktor’s lead, letting him entwine their fingers.

“Sorry if I turned the mood too sour.” Viktor apologized as they walked side by side, earning a few looks from the passers-by, which the pakhan promptly ignored. If Russia still had a problem with homosexuality, well, he had stopped making it _his_ problem long ago.

Which actually placed him at odds with President Petrov, to be honest, as Yakov constantly took the time to remind him, which in turn wasn’t helping in negotiating a deal to get his father out of jail. But Viktor would find his way to work around it, he was sure of that.

“Oh, by the way…” Yuuri’s voice shook Viktor from his thoughts. “This is barely related to what we were saying but, you know, I’ve been wanting to ask…”

“Mmh?”

“The other day, when you were telling me about the time you got lost in the underground…”

“Yeah, my first face-to-face with Petersburg’s public transport…”

“Mh, that one. You said you were going to a ballet studio?”

If Viktor had reasons to marvel at Yuuri’s attention to details, he paid them no mind. Yuuri had breached the subject of ballet, and it was like opening a dam.

“Oh, yeah! I have been doing ballet ever since I was six, so when I came here-”

“Wait, what, you do ballet!?” There was no way Yuuri could have faked such a level of interest, and indeed, he had no need to fake anything at all. “I did too, back when I was younger, and sometimes still…! I’m an ice skater… I mean, not a professional but-”

None of them knew it then, but it was in that moment, with those words, that Yuuri Katsuki sealed his and Viktor Nikiforov’s fate.

“Oh my God, are you kidding me?! Why didn’t you tell me sooner?!”

They stayed together late into the night, Viktor delegating Yakov to show up at the _appointment_ in Lomonosov in his stead and Yuuri bidding farewell to his study plans for the night; but it was alright because they spent hours on hours fanboying over Evgenija Medvedeva and Yuzuru Hanyu and rewatching videos of their best performances on Viktor’s cell phone, breaking them down into details, translating Russian and Japanese commentaries to each other, and even if they dined in a crappy pub along the way (they couldn’t bother searching for a decent place, they were in the middle of watching the 2006 Winter Olympics Male FS which was far more important than whatever was going to sate their grumbling stomachs), in both Viktor and Yuuri’s books, this substituted the night at the Sunday Ginza as the Best Date™ in their lives.

\---

Their next date was the following night, at St. Petersburg’s Ice Theatre, where Viktor had quickly booked two front row seats for the ongoing show. The date went long into the night again as they had _a lot_ to say about the performance, but at least this time Viktor had managed to make plans in advance and booked a table in a nice restaurant nearby. Not that they paid any _real_ attention to the food, anyway, they were too focused on discussing every little detail of the show, moving back and forth between technical elements, and interpretation, and lighting, and costumes, then back to the choreography once again.

When Viktor kissed him goodnight after taking him back home (he kissed him on the lips, this time, but it was brief, even though Yuuri’s mouth had lingered on Viktor’s far more than strictly required of him to demonstrate his interest in the developing relationship with the pakhan), he promised Yuuri to take him ice skating one day.

\---

November 12th, 2016

St. Peterbsurg, Russia

Elagin Park

10:59

“Wait a second, is that a…?”

In fact, their next date the next morning took place at Elagin Park, supposedly with the aim of hitting the ice rink there. But at some point Yuuri had brought up the subject of Viktor’s dog again, so here they were, sitting on a bench, Viktor wrapping his arm around Yuuri’s shoulders to help him fight off the cold -yes, _definitely_ for that-, digging through Viktor’s folder of photos of Makkachin.

“A dildo, yeah. My favourite one, actually.”

Yuuri’s ears went the cutest shade of red when he was embarrassed, Viktor decided.

“But… it’s _golden_.”

“Uh, yeah, should that be a problem?”

“Uh… n-no, I mean… uh…”

“It’s a shame I had to ditch it after Makka turned it into one of her favourite chewing toys, it was one great dildo.”

Viktor chuckled, enjoying the warmth emanating from Yuuri’s body. They hadn’t been this close ever since their first date at the Sunday Ginza when Viktor had led Yuuri outside. Then, Yuuri scooted even closer, and Viktor found himself staring into wide chocolate eyes.

The distance between his and Yuuri’s lips was the shortest and the longest he had ever closed.

The kiss started slow, gentle, then grew more passionate as Yuuri parted his lips in a sigh, effectively drawing Viktor’s tongue in. Soon they were both short of breath, but none thought it a good reason for stopping. After a brief pause to catch their breaths, their mouths were searching for each other once again.

It had been _ages_ since Viktor had felt so good kissing someone (was _there_ even a time when Viktor had enjoyed a kiss this much? when the butterflies in his stomach had threatened to burst out of his ribcage together with his madly beating heart?), and all Viktor wanted was to spend the rest of his life there on that bench, holding Yuuri close and kissing him and _ignoring the damn phone that kept vibrating in his pocket and distracting him from the most beautiful thing in the whole fucking universe._

“Uh… V- viktor? Perhaps you should… uh… pick this one up?” Yuuri managed to mumble between swollen lips, face as flushed as it had never been.

Viktor reluctantly took out his phone. He sighed, then hit the “Answer call” button.

“[Yakov. Is this so important that you-]”

The man on the other side -Yakov Feltsman, the pakhan’s old mentor, from what Yuuri could gather from Viktor’s clipped, annoyed Russian- must have interrupted him, because the pakhan went silent for a while, listening to what the other man had to say, his brow furrowing.

“[Yes. Yes. I get it. Alright. I’ll be there in five.]”

Viktor cut the phone call short, then slipped the phone back into his pocket.

“Forgive me, _zolotse_.” He said, sincerely regretful, taking Yuuri’s hands and lifting them to kiss his knuckles. “Apparently, there are things that won’t get done unless I see to them myself.”

Yuuri was still too shaken in the wake of their kiss to formulate a proper reply.

“I’ll have Chris drive you back home, and I’m taking you out for dinner tonight to make up for this morning. Your choice of place, alright?”

Still trying to recover from the truck of emotions that had just hit him square in the face, Yuuri could only nod as Viktor kissed the back of his hands once more before hurrying down the path, phone pressed to his ear.

“You know, if you’re going to spend the rest of your day sitting on that bench and staring into the void, I could always join you.”, someone in front of him said, and Yuuri found himself staring at Christophe Giacometti. “I mean, you really _are_ cute. And kissable. But I don’t think the boss is going to like the idea of me doing that, don’t you think?”

Yuuri should  _really_ have taken a moment to worry about how watching Viktor disappear in the distance had distracted him enough not to notice Christophe Giacometti approaching him.

“Wha- I… no! I- I mean…" Yuuri stuttered, wishing his cheeks and ears would just lose this habit of going such a deep shade of red. "L-let’s go.”

So, Yuuri he let the infamous Swiss bodyguard -who also happened to be in charge of intelligence and security for the Nikiforov bratva- drive him home; all in all, he shouldn’t have been too surprised when he found himself thrown from a romantic date at the park into a full-fledged interrogatory.

Indeed, no matter the sweet smile, there was no hiding the inquisitive look in the bodyguard’s keen eyes as he cruised through St. Petersburg’s main streets.

“So, you’re from Japan. Tokyo, am I right?”

“Uh, only for the university. Technically, I come from the Kyushu Prefecture.”

“Mmh, Kyushu. I’ve never been there. Heard of it though.”

“Oh. Did you?”

“Mhm. Mostly from work, actually. Yakuza territory, some of the cities.”

Yuuri swallowed.

“My family runs an onsen.”

At least that was not _technically_ a lie.

In the rearview mirror, Yuuri could see Giacometti’s eyes trying to unveil his very soul.

“I’ve… heard the Solntsevskaja Bratva and the Yakuza are not on the best of terms.”, he said, trying to stick well to his part.

“You seem pretty well informed for a university student.”

Yuuri distinctly remembered Viktor telling him the very same thing the night they met. Perhaps that was what people meant when they said that the pakhan and his bodyguard were on the same wavelength.

“My friend who came here last semester with the university exchange program worked as a waiter at the Emperor.”, Yuuri said as if it was self-explanatory. And indeed it was.

“Ah, yeah, of course. Quite the chatty waiters they have there.”

Apparently, there were two pillars to Viktor Nikiforov’s empire, in the eyes of the _general public_ , so to speak. The Podkova, the old, rusty downtown bar where a nineteen-year-old Viktor had started moving his first steps in the underworld of crime by putting up a business of clandestine fights, and the Emperor, the upper-class nightclub that in the subsequent years had become one of the young Nikiforov’s favourite stages. And while the regulars of the Podkova, old, seasoned men with no manners but a deep-rooted sense of honour to make up for it, _honest criminals_ as someone might call them, were known to be as tight-lipped as they were loyal to their _Knife Boy_ , the same could not be said of the young men and women that usually made up the crew of the Emperor.

When Celestino had suggested to send Phichit Chulanont to St. Petersburg (and to the Emperor in particular) some months before Yuuri himself came to the city, as a piece of his cover, Yuuri had thought the old Italian advisor was being perhaps a little too scrupulous. Yuuri had been wrong.

“Y-yeah. That’s how I heard of Viktor the first time.”

“And then decided to come here. Aren’t you quite the fanboy.” Giacometti winked at Yuuri from the rearview mirror.

“Viktor Nikiforov is a living legend.” Yuuri defended.

“There’s a lot more to Viktor Nikiforov than that nickname, _mon ami_.”

Yuuri wondered if it was fondness he could hear in the bodyguard’s tone.

“I… think I’m starting to see it now.”, he admitted sincerely, and suddenly found a certain form of empathy in the glance the bodyguard sent him.

It was indeed nice, not having to lie to Giacometti. The Swiss seemed a nice person, when he was not in interrogating mode.

“You’ve known him for a long time, haven’t you?”

“Indeed.” Giacometti smiled. “Ever since he came to Petersburg. Or, well, almost. He was barely seventeen when I started working for him, back then. I was only a few years older, but at least I wasn’t a lost cause when having to catch the underground.”

“He… uh… mentioned having had some controversies with the public transport.”, Yuuri chuckled.

“Vik’s an airhead, that’s the fact. But he’s a genius too, and after ten years of working for him, I still don’t understand where the one ends and the other begins. So let me give you one word of heartfelt advice, _mon ami_. Whatever your reasons for wanting to get him into your pants, don’t ever underestimate Viktor Nikiforov.”

\---

_And judgement taught us that our hearts were wrong_

_But they're the ones that we'll look down upon_

November 12th, 2016

St. Petersburg, Russia

Nikiforov House

18:22

 “So you kissed him. On the bench.”

“Yes! We were so close, and he was watching that pic of Makkachin, you know the one where she had found the box with my toys and was playing with my dildo, and then he looks up at me with _those_ eyes -God, Chris, have you seen his _eyes_???- so I really couldn’t help myself…”

Chris hummed, sitting in the chair in front of Viktor’s desk, in the pakhan’s office.

“You sound rather unimpressed, Chris.”

“Vik, honestly. You were deepthroating him in the stalls of the Emperor not even fifteen minutes after learning his name, so excuse me for not finding a _kiss_ exciting.”

Viktor all but pouted.

“Chriiiis.”

“And I’ll tell you more. Rushed blowjobs in a restroom stall? That was fine by me. That was _normal_. _This_ is not.”

“Chris, I’m pretty sure that if you asked anyone else out there in the street” Viktor gestured to the window that gave on the sight of the Neva “they would tell you the exact opposite.”

The last comment earned Viktor a glare from his bodyguard, and he lifted his hands up in surrender.

“But I get where you’re coming from, my friend, I really do. That’s not how I operate, is that what you mean?”

Chris nodded.

“Yuuri’s different, Chris.”

“He’s _Japanese_.”

Viktor took a sip of vodka from his glass.

“That doesn’t immediately make him Yakuza.”

“No, but you must agree with me this is suspicious.”

“Might be.” The pakhan agreed, falling back into his chair. “Keep investigating him, Chris, let me know if anything comes out.” He unlocked his phone and scrolled through a Telegram chat. “Oh, and book a place for two at the Seaside Taste. Yuuri wants to try caviar.” he said as he got up from his chair and made to leave the office, eyes glued to his phone screen.

Chris sighed.

“Vik, I’m _really_ worried this time around.”

Viktor stopped mid-way to the door.

“You’re right, my friend, things don’t add up. Or one might say they add up all too well. But, you know, I’m willing to take the risk.” Viktor brought his index finger to his chin, smiling to himself. “To be honest, the thought I might be risking my life kinda adds to the thrill, now that I think about it…”

_It’s not that I’m afraid you won’t survive it_ , Chris wanted to say as he watched Viktor leave the office to get ready for his date with Yuuri. _I’m pretty sure you will live through this, even though it will probably cost me a heart failure or two when this man reveals himself for what he is. Yes, you will survive it. It’s your heart that won’t._

\---

November 12th, 2016

St. Petersburg, Russia

Viktor Nikiforov’s Cadillac

00:35

“Oh, Yuuri, I’m not sure my heart can survive such a statement.” Viktor lamented, dramatically bringing a hand to his forehead as he drove Yuuri home that night after their dinner. “To think you never once in your life saw a performance of the Bolshoi!”

“It’s not that easy, you know, living in Japan and all…”

“I will take you.”

“Viktor, isn’t the Bolshoi… uh… in Moscow? I don’t think I can af-”

“I will take you.” Viktor insisted, and Yuuri started to realize what people meant when they talked about the Living Legend’s unwavering will. “I was planning a business trip to Moscow in a few weeks, actually.”

_Most likely, it’s the Georgians Viktor has been complaining about these last few days_ , Yuuri reasoned as Viktor pulled off in front of his place.

“And I’m going to the Bolshoi, I always take the chance to. It’s the one real thing I miss of Moscow.”

“How long will you be staying?”

“Oh, a few days, I guess? Maybe a week, if there happen to be too many people I have to meet. So, will you come?”

“Wh- me?!”

“Who else?” Viktor smiled at Yuuri, winking. “I’ll give you time to keep up with your studying, I promise. But-“ he silenced Yuuri’s protest with a finger on the younger man’s lips “I’ll also introduce you to some of my higher-up acquaintances.” Viktor said.

Then, as if he had just realized something… or _remembered_ it, he stilled.

Had Yuuri not been too focused on putting together what Viktor meant, he would have noticed that the liveliness had suddenly left Viktor’s eyes, and that the pakhan’s bright smile had somewhat dulled.

“What do you- _oh._ ”

“Yuuri, Yuuri.” Viktor burst out laughing, and even to his own ears that laugh sounded fake… almost nervous. “You really thought I forgot why you came searching for me in the first place? It’s about time I hold up to my part of the bargain.”

The _bargain_.

Yuuri felt chill suddenly seep into his bones.

_Of course. I’m supposed to be here to be his sugar baby and being introduced into his circle._

Viktor lifted Yuuri’s hand to kiss his knuckles, trying to swallow the bad taste of disillusion in his mouth.

“I do tend to forget my promises, _zolotse_ , so you must forgive me if I strayed a little these last few days.”

_You must forgive me for hoping._

He had forgotten, for a while, who Yuuri was, how orchestrated his appearance at the Emperor had been. It had been easy, as their nights went on in the excitement of discovering all the things they had in common; it had been easy, as long as they talked of figure skating, of dancing, of dogs, as long as he let Yuuri tell him about his video games while he told him about his favourite movies and books; it had been easy to hope that there was something else bringing them together, beside Yuuri’s need for powerful connections.

“Y-you never promised anything, though!” Yuuri blurted out. “So I wasn’t expecting…”

Yuuri trailed off as Viktor’s eyes pierced through him.

As he watched Yuuri fidget under his scrutiny, Viktor wondered if he could dare to hope again.

Even so, the atmosphere between them had been broken, and they suddenly needed to reassess their relationship.

Viktor took Yuuri’s hand in his own and smiled sweetly.

“I’ll be leaving for Moscow on December 10th. I’ll be staying for a week. You can come with me, at my place. You’ll have your own room, there’s plenty of space there. I’ll take you to the best restaurants, and to the Bolshoi. And if you want, I’ll introduce you to certain people I know. Alright?”

“Viktor…”

“Just think about it. I have to leave for Detroit in a few days, then Sicily and Odessa, so we won’t be seeing each other for some time, but I promise I’ll make sure to come back in time. In the meanwhile, you think about my proposal, will you?”

“I… I will.”

“Good.” Viktor leaned in to kiss Yuuri’s cheek. It was chaste, sombre even. “Goodnight, Yuuri.”

“Goodnight.”

As Viktor drove off into the night, Yuuri realized he hadn’t asked him what he had promised to come back in time _for_.

_And if we're sinners then_

_It feels like heaven_

_To me_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Work is a b**ch, even for the Russian pakhan. Also, I totally sympathize with Chris. Poor man deserves a vacation.  
> \---  
> If you're on Tumblr and you'd like to chat, feel free to hmu at [@vik-mombuchika](http://vik-mombuchika.tumblr.com/)  
> And for those who'd like to directly pester the Pakhan himself, [@thepakhaninstpetersburg](https://thepakhaninstpetersburg.tumblr.com/) is the RP and ask blog everything was born from! The infamous Viktor Sergeevich Nikiforov himself will be answering your questions in person, though, so... do it at your own risk!  
> -  
> Lyrics from:  
> Nightcore - Sinners


	5. The Roles We Play (With)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fate is an Aria.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Updating this a day earlier -to make up for missing last week's publication date! I'm really sorry for not being able to update last week, it's been a kinda rough period on me and lost my motivation... but I'm determined to see through fisnishing at least this fic -and my anxiety willing, possibly all the other installment of this series (I was already working on a ViChris prequel to this, and have a plot for two others fics to complete the main story).  
> Anyway, on to replying to all your lovely messages~  
> @MegMegMeg, @spidela I love how everyone is waiting for The MessTM to happen, and really hope not to disappoint when things do start going downhill... if they do ;) If I were Viktor, I would say it all depends on how you look at them, you know.  
> @DMP1013 thank you so much dear for always finding the time to let me know you appreciate the story <3  
> @spn-fanatic Welcome on board! I'm glad you're appreciating this, and I hope I'll be able to live up to expectations... or maybe surprise you, Viktor-style!

When he woke up the day of his twenty-fourth birthday, Yuuri Katskuki didn’t know that, before the night would bring him back to his bed, tired, in turmoil, and yet somewhat happy in his excitement, he would be graced with a sight he would only see again years later, in the middle of a Siberian snowstorm, and that that sight would become the image of all he held dear, all he would sacrifice everything else for.

\---

November 29th, 2016

St. Petersburg, Russia

Yuuri Katsuki’s rented apartment

7:46

Yuuri’s birthday began with a creak of his bedroom door, a deep-dive into Russian cursing, and the biggest bouquet of roses he had ever seen.

The creak, which was what actually woke Yuuri up, was caused by a blonde boy of no more than sixteen, who was carrying the bouquet. The cursing came from the boy as well, the moment he found out Yuuri had woken up. Yuuri could indeed be grateful to the fact that the boy’s visual was distinctly impaired by the massive bouquet of blue roses in his arms, for otherwise he would surely have noticed how Yuuri’s hand had immediately dived under the unused pillow next to him, whose only utility was to serve as a hiding place for Yuuri’s gun. This would have at least drawn _suspicions_ , and Yuuri didn’t want to make this particular person suspicious of him.

As it was, the boy limited himself to pouring an abundance of profanities over Yuuri, whom was being referred to as _this Japanese pig_ (or something along those lines, Yuuri’s understanding of Russian was still _wavering_ at best), before unceremoniously leaving the bouquet on Yuuri’s desk and retreating out of the bedroom.

 _I think I just met the Russian Ice Tiger_ , Yuuri thought as Yurij Plisetskij left his small apartment and banged the front door shut behind himself. _Also, I think I heard him yelling that Viktor Nikiforov is dead, but I’m pretty sure he meant it figuratively. Or I might just have gotten it wrong, he wasn’t exactly making an effort to make himself understandable for a beginner._

Yuuri shook his head to clear it from the last traces of sleep, then took a look at the clock on his nightstand. 7:50. Considering his alarm was supposed to go off in five minutes anyway, Yuuri decided he might as well accept his fate, mourn the loss of those precious ten minutes of sleep, and simply head to the bathroom to kick his day started. Yuuri wondered whether he should have been more worried by the way Viktor didn't seem to mind sending his own men into Yuuri's apartment without asking for Yuuri's permission (he didn't even want to know how Plisetskij had managed to open the front door). Indeed, this was not surprising at all, just as it hadn't been surprising how Viktor had quickly obtained Yuuri's phone number in the first place. After all, Viktor Nikiforov had the strength of the whole Solntevskaja Bratva to back him up. Yuuri could only be glad he hadn't found out _more_. Yet.

As he passed by the desk, where the blue roses shone in their splendour, Yuuri couldn’t help a smile. He hadn’t seen Viktor ever since the pakhan had offered to take Yuuri to Moscow with him, even though they had kept texting each other, but even if he was currently away from Petersburg on a business trip, so to speak, apparently Viktor had still found a way to be _present_ on the day of Yuuri’s birthday.

Then, Yuuri noticed the little card attached to the bouquet. _Моему_ _любимому_ _фигуристу_ , it read in elegant writing.

Yuuri’s heart did a quadruple flip as the meaning of the Russian words set it.

Then, he heard a voice behind him, and the jump turned into a combination.

“Can you read the card?”

“G- Giacometti!”

“Sorry for startling you, _mon ami_. Vik asked me to make sure you could understand it. He was worried you might not read his writing.”

“He… Viktor wrote it himself?”

Chris rolled his eyes.

“Of course he did. So, can you read it?”

“Y-yeah. It says, _To my favourite ice skater_.” Yuuri murmured as his ears went a deep shade of red. Viktor hadn’t even actually _seen_ him skating.

“Precisely. Now” Chris eyed Yuuri in his white t-shirt and black pajama shorts. “I’ll need you to get dressed and come with me. The boss is waiting for you.”

“Wha- Viktor’s in Petersburg?”

From the last message he got from Viktor last night, Yuuri had surmised the pakhan had been in Sicily, falling to the temptation of going for a midnight dive in the warm Mediterranean Sea.

“We got here early this morning.”

“Oh…”

“So, are you coming or not?”

“Wh… oh, y-yeah… I guess...” Yuuri quickly collected his clothes, then hesitated, frowning at the Swiss, who had made no sign of moving from his spot on the door. “Can you… uh… turn?”

Giacometti sighed.

“Alright, I get it. And here I wanted to one-up Vik and tell him I got to see you naked before he did…” With a wink, the Swiss turned to leave. “I’ll be waiting in the car downstairs. Don’t take too long, Viktor has been restless these last few days, so cut the poor man some slack and hurry up.”

In the wake of Giacometti’s leave, it took Yuuri a good minute to process all the information he had just been given. Apparently, Viktor, who had been away from St. Petersburg for a few weeks, had come back this very morning -he must have slept on his flight back, considering he had been texting from Italy only a few hours before-, had flowers delivered to Yuuri with a card he himself had written and was now waiting for him… somewhere. Giacometti hadn’t specified the place.

Also, Yuuri was supposed to have lessons all day on a Tuesday.

With a last glance to the blue roses, Yuuri went to the bathroom to get ready for the impromptu date.

\---

November 29th, 2016

St. Petersburg, Russia

Viktor Nikiforov’s Mercedes

8:35

“So, where are we… uh… headed?”

The boy in the passenger’s seat tsk’ed.

“You not need to know, pig.”

“Don’t be rude, Yurij. He’s not a prisoner or a hostage.”

“Then why did you blindfold me?”

When he had gotten in the back of the car and Yurij Plisetkij had turned with a black piece of cloth in his hands, ordering him to put it on his eyes, Yuuri’s first instinct had justifiably been of the fight-or-flight kind. Then, he rationalized that if his cover had been blown up to this point, considering the ease with which the Russian Ice Tiger had managed to sneak into his room even when impeded by such a cumbersome present, there was probably no real reason for the pakhan and his men to stage such an elaborate act just to get Yuuri on the car, and then not making sure he was incapacitated enough to prevent him from putting up a fight. Indeed, they had not bothered tying his hands, or inspecting his body to see if they could find any hidden weapons (not that they would find them, Yuuri never brought his gun with him when he was supposed to meet Viktor, to avoid any possible problem with the pakhan’s security).

So, after only a moment’s hesitance, Yuuri had accepted the blindfold, and was now letting the two _vory v zakone_ lead him only-Nikiforov-knew-where. Before the car had set into motion he had heard something being placed in the trunk, but he couldn’t understand what. Then Giacometti had taken his place behind the wheel and they had dived into St. Petersburg’s traffic.

“Viktor loves surprising people. You’ll see when we get there.”

The Swiss was indeed a much more amiable companion than the Ice Tiger.

“[Viktor’s got a screw loose.]”, the young Russian mumbled. Yuuri could almost figure him slouching in the front seat, lifting his knees up to his chest.

“Viktor has much more than one screw loose.”, came Chris’s amused reply. Apparently, the two were comfortable with such a bilingual back-and-forth. English didn’t seem to be Plisetskij’s strong feature, after all.

“[Yeah, but this one is new, and worse than any other.]”

Giacometti only limited himself to a chuckle.

“[What the fuck are you laughing at, asshole?!]”

“Calm down, kid, and take your feet off the dashboard. Anyway, this is your hurt-fanboy side speaking.”

“[Call me like that once again and I’ll open a new hole in that punk ass face of yours, Giacometti.]”

Yuuri was quite sure he heard the sound of a gun being unholstered but Giacometti seemed unfazed. Indeed, they simply drove on in silence after that, except for the Swiss placidly humming to the tune coming out of the radio.

When they finally got to their destination, whatever that was, Giacometti and Plisetskij demanded that Yuuri kept the blindfold on, took out whatever they had loaded in the trunk (possibly a bag, Yuuri guessed by what he could hear) and led Yuuri inside, guiding him through a series of long corridors and stairs. There was something oddly familiar about the smell of the place, but Yuuri couldn’t quite put his finger on it.

Then, they finally stopped, and when Yuuri heard Viktor’s voice, he suddenly realized some of the tension in his muscles immediately dissipated just at knowing that he was there.

“Yuuri! Finally!”

It was Viktor who undid the blindfold as he placed a gentle kiss on Yuuri’s lips -Plisetskij, behind them, did nothing to hide his grunt- and Yuuri’s sight was suddenly filled by the pakhan’s smile.

“ _S dniem rozhdjenija, zolotse._ [Happy birthday, my dear.]”

Viktor took a step back and Yuuri suddenly realized why the place had felt so familiar. He should have been able to recognize the air of an ice skating rink everywhere.

“V-Viktor, is this…?”

“I rented the place for the whole day. We can stay here as long as you want, just you and me. No one’s going to bother us.”

“This is…”

“I _did_ promise to take you ice skating, didn’t I?”

“But… my skates…”

“I had them brought here. Hope you don’t mind me telling Yura to go through your closet to get your sports bag.”

Oh. At least they had solved the enigma of their mysterious cargo.

“So? What do you say, Yuuri?”

Later on, Yuuri Katsuki would realize that the acting part of an assassination mission that implied seducing your intended victim was _not_ supposed to come to him this easy, but at the moment he didn’t waste any time thinking, and just threw himself at Viktor, kissing him hard on the lips. God, he had missed ice skating, and for Viktor not only to understanding this without Yuuri even telling it out loud, but also staging such a surprise for Yuuri’s birthday...

After a moment’s hesitation, he felt the pakhan relaxing, and his arms circling his waist. Yet, his touch wasn’t as eased as it should have been, Yuuri realized.

The pakhan smiled gently, and the slight tension in that smile cemented Yuuri’s feeling that something was wrong with Viktor.

“Let’s have some breakfast at the bar, and then put our skates on, alright?”

\---

November 29th, 2016

St. Petersburg, Russia

Tavricheskij Garden - Ice Rink

10:07

_Here in the spotlight this moment is ours_

_No one can stop us, we’re one with the stars_

Yuuri went from a straight line into a 3 turn, building momentum, then planted the left toe pick in the ice and vaulted up. One, two, three rotations, then his right blade touched the ice, and he spread his arms and left leg in the landing, elegantly gliding through the ice in the middle of the rink.

They had been skating for a while now, circling around the edges of the ice rink at first, then deciding they could dare the middle without risking the pakhan’s life in doing so -Viktor had never taken real ice skating lessons, but he was indeed a natural, so Yuuri had judged it safe to draw him in the middle and hold his hands while trying taking different courses. Then, Viktor had asked Yuuri to demonstrate some jumps, to which Yuuri happily complied, if only for having something to focus on instead of the disturbing thought that kept nagging at the back of his mind.

It wasn’t like this date was going _bad_ -they had first stopped at the rink’s bar, where they were served a rich breakfast Viktor had specifically ordered, then put their skates on (apparently, Viktor had his own pair, although they were nothing near professional) and hit the ice. Viktor had told him about his _business trip_ , asked Yuuri about his lessons, they discussed the results of the NHK Trophy­ that had taken place only a few days prior, they even took their time fanboying over Yuzuru Hanyu and his newest gold medal.

Yet, something felt off. Viktor was distant, as if he was not completely _there_. It was like he was playing a part and was not fully immersed in it. Yuuri wondered what part that might be. Had Viktor lost interest in him? It didn’t seem so, considering the effort he had put into preparing this surprise for Yuuri’s birthday, when he could have simply bought him some random expensive present. And even then, it wasn’t like Viktor held any _obligation_ towards Yuuri, after all, did he? For God’s sake, the only time they had done anything sexual, it had been _Viktor_ who had gone home unsatisfied after giving Yuuri the blowjob of his life. So definitely, the pakhan didn’t owe Yuuri anything. More like the opposite, actually. No matter, Viktor had bended his schedule with the specific intent of being back in time for Yuuri’s birthday.

And yet, Yuuri could feel that there was something less genuine in how the pakhan was smiling at him today, that his eyes were somewhat distant, almost longing, and this put him on edge in turn.

From the corner of the rink, Yuuri heard Viktor clapping excitedly as the pakhan skated to the middle of the ice, catching up with Yuuri.

“ _Otlichno!_ Yuuri, that was so beautiful!”

Even now, as he entwined their hands while they skated together side-by-side, Viktor’s smile seemed almost dulled, so unlikely the one Yuuri had been gifted with during their last dates, as if at least part of Viktor’s mind was somewhere else, preoccupied with something Yuuri could not quite grasp.

“Well, the toe loop is the only triple I can pull off, right now. I’m working on the Salchow, too, but the landing is still a bit off, when it’s not outright on my ass.”

Viktor chuckled, and at least part of the tension seemed to be leaving him as he reached to cup said ass with his hand, earning a yelp from Yuuri.

“You must be careful, _zolotse_. You do not want to ruin such a perfect- whoah!”

“Vitja!” Yuuri reached forward, grabbing Viktor’s arms to prevent the man from falling unceremoniously face-first into the ice. “Hey, are you ok?”

As Yuuri helped steadying him, Viktor looked up at him, keen eyes piercing through Yuuri’s own as if searching for a truth Yuuri himself didn’t know he held.

“…How did you call me?”

“I… uh…”

It took Yuuri a moment to realize he had called Viktor with his diminutive for the first real time. True, he had used it once or twice in their Telegram chats, mostly playfully, but he had never felt confident enough to call the pakhan ‘Vitja’ to his face. Apparently, it had sorted quite the effect on Viktor, and realizing that made Yuuri’s face go red.

Viktor kept staring at Yuuri expectantly for a while, then, when he realized he had no hope of hearing that name coming from the Japanese’s lips again, he sighed, and silently pulled Yuuri close in a tight embrace.

“Forgive me, Yuuri.”

Trying to piece together what was going on, why Viktor’s words had sounded so desperate, Yuuri just let the other man hold him.

Viktor buried his mouth into Yuuri’s hair, basking in his scent, in the warmth his body emanated after the jumping exercise.

“ _Ty takoj krasivyj, Yuuri._ [You’re so beautiful, Yuuri.]” he murmured as Yuuri shyly reciprocated the hug. _And I am so in love_ , he wanted to add, but didn’t.

Viktor Sergeevich Nikiforov despised lying. Oh, he had his own ways of deceiving those who needed deceiving (and they were not a few, for sure, considering the world he operated in), but he never outright _lied_. Especially not to himself.

After his last date with Yuuri, he had taken his time to assess the situation, and the conclusion he had reached was one and very simple.

He had fallen. Hard, and deep, and there was no turning back now.

If after the Emperor his interest in the young Japanese had mostly been piqued by the way something had clicked between them on a purely physical side, as they spent more time together Viktor realized he had started to desire -no, not desire, _need_ \- a lot more of what Yuuri seemed able to offer.

And yet, how long would Yuuri be _willing_ to offer? For how long would Viktor be able to pay for it?

There was purpose in Yuuri’s eyes, an intent that had been evident ever since their first meeting at the Emperor, Viktor was not going to lie to himself on this as well. Yuuri was here for _something_. And once Yuuri got it, he was going to discard Viktor, just as Viktor had discarded Artjom Konovalov all those years ago, as soon as he had stopped needing the man’s protection in his climb to power. In Viktor’s case, ‘discarding’ had translated to ‘slit his sugar daddy’s throat in his own bed’. What would it translate to in Yuuri’s own agenda? When would Yuuri deem it time to discard Viktor?

And then there was Chris’s growing suspicion, that Yuuri was Yakuza. If so, the bedroom assassination option became even more likely, and a lot closer to come in time.

Would Viktor know it when the time came? Would he fight back?

Whatever the answer, all the possible paths lead to one outcome: one day, Viktor was going to watch Yuuri walk away with his heart in his hands, figuratively if not literally, and there was nothing he could do about it.

Except letting it happen and going with the flow, as he had always done.

So there was no real reason for him to ruin the present moment by thinking about what the future might bring, right?

Viktor let Yuuri go and instead took his gloved hand, kissing its back.

“Will you show me the toe loop again, _zolotse_?” he asked, cursing Russian, English, French and all the languages in the world for not being able to let him express all his heart in a word.

“Yes. Yes, of course.” Yuuri smiled.

Whatever was troubling Viktor, it was making the pakhan retreat into his intended role, which in turn was helping Yuuri maintain his own act, and stick to the script he and his sister had designed. This was indeed a blessing in disguise.

Yuuri leaned in.

“Don’t take your eyes off of me.”

Viktor didn’t.

Yuuri performed the triple toe loop again, a success, then dared the double axel. It came out so good he decided to give the triple a try. He had always wanted to try a triple axel. Considering he had never attempted such a high-difficulty jump, it didn’t even go _too_ bad. He had almost managed to land it before falling with a yelp on the ice.

Viktor was at his side in an instant, checking on him.

“I’ll be fine, Viktor.” Yuuri reassured the pakhan. “Maybe I’ll get some bruises, but they’ll be gone by the time we go to Moscow. You won’t see any trace of them by then.”

Viktor looked at Yuuri, the air around them suddenly getting heavy with the weight of the promises hanging between those words.

“So you decided to come.”

“Yes. It’s the perfect chance.” Yuuri had far since realized that in Petersburg he had no real chance of making it to the airport alive after killing Viktor Nikiforov, the city was _that_ loyal to him. In Moscow, however… “I really want to see the Bolshoi. And to spend some… quality time with you.”, he added, coquettish.

Viktor immediately caught the hint. Indeed, ‘Netflix and chill’ couldn’t have been more direct.

“Mmmh. I’ll make sure to make our trip to Moscow the most _profitable_ for us both, _zolotse_.”, he murmured in Yuuri’s ear, sultry as he hadn’t been ever since the Emperor.

“I can’t wait, _Vitja_.” Yuuri echoed. “In the meanwhile, just watch me.”

“I won’t take my eyes off of you.”

Once more, Viktor kept his promise. His eyes never left Yuuri as he skated to the centre of the ice and started dancing on blades to a music only he could hear. It was a heartfelt piece, Viktor could grasp that much as Yuuri skated to a program that began with him lifting his hands up to the sky as if asking for some sort of grace from above, and then continuing with a beautiful step sequence.

And indeed, although not reaching the level of the feats champions like Hanyu or Plushenko could create, Yuuri’s program was a masterpiece in his own right. It was insane how Yuuri seemed to concentrate the most difficult jumps in the second half of the program -and pulled them off too. And the step sequences, oh God, Yuuri was just too good at them, and it was such a shame his shyness was keeping him from expressing himself to the fullest. And yet, there always remained a spark of Yuuri’s pride in the way he kept going even after he two-footed a landing on a jump, an elegance in how his body created a music that hadn’t been there in the first place that made the spectator unable to look away.

As he watched Yuuri move smoothly from a beautiful outside spread eagle to an Ina Bauer, Viktor marvelled at how hard desire hit him. He wanted him, he wanted Yuuri Fukuhara, in every sense and in every way, and God, he would find a way to make him _his_.

As soon as the program reached its end, the pakhan was already gliding towards Yuuri, to kneel in front of him.

“You’re a too precious a gift, Yuuri.”, he said, kissing Yuuri’s hands. “You honour me with such beauty and there is so little I can do to repay you.”

Yuuri, still blushing a deep red after the pakhan’s demonstration of devotion, swallowed.

“Actually, there is something.”

There _was_ something he had wanted to ask Viktor, something he wanted to see before… before he would not be able to ask Viktor Nikiforov anything anymore.

“I’d like to see you dance.”

Viktor looked up at Yuuri, a burning light in his eyes.

“Will you dance for me, Viktor?”

Viktor smiled as he got up, cupping Yuuri’s cheek with his hand.

“As I told you once already, Yuuri, anything for you.”

_Kiss me_

_Fade away, just far enough_

_I'm drifting_

_Touch me so I know that I'm not dreaming_

_Safe until the night is gone_

\---

November 29th, 2016

St. Petersburg, Russia

Lilija Baranovskaja’s ballet studio

13:56

“Viktor? Is this the ballet studio you went to when you first came to Petersburg?”

“Yeah, why?”

“It’s right in front of the underground station. How the hell did you get lost coming here?”

“Well, first you have to get off at the right station and not the one before or the one after. It’s not that easy when the train is packed.”

Yuuri looked thoroughly unimpressed.

“I live in Tokyo. You don’t know _packed_ unless you’ve been a commuter in Tokyo.”

Viktor pouted.

“You also need to catch the train that goes in the right direction, and not change lines by mistake when trying to retrace your steps.”

“…Giacometti is right, you must have been a lost cause with public transport.”

Viktor’s pout deepened.

“I need to have a word with Chris about destroying my reputation with my partner.”

Yuuri was glad he was helping Viktor with his warm-up stretching, else the blush that spread from his cheeks to his ears at being referred to as Viktor’s _partner_ would not have escaped the pakhan’s attention.

“Alright, I think I’m done here.”

Viktor got up from the side split with an ease that made Yuuri feel ashamed of himself. He needed to work a lot more on his stretching exercises.

As Viktor dedicated himself to some barre warm-up, Yuuri took the chance to study the pakhan’s built and posture. The years of ballet surely had left a trace on Viktor Nikiforov’s body, and so did the martial arts training he must have taken -there was a streak of steel in the way Viktor squared his shoulders that just screamed “military”, although it was gracefully blended in with the elegance typical of a classical dancer.

It created a singular, exotic effect that was uniquely _Viktor_ , and the tattoos left uncovered on the pakhan’s forearms -it was the first time he saw a physical proof of Viktor Nikiforov’s affiliation to the bratva, Yuuri suddenly realized- only added to the overall effect.

“So, Yuuri. What would you like to see me dance to?”

“Y- your choice.” Yuuri fidgeted. “Uhm… Show me the piece you like most?”

“The piece I like most.” Viktor smiled, looking down at the barre under his hand, almost bashful. “Alright.”

He made a quick search for the music on his I-Pod, then connected it to the speakers.

“Hit play when I tell you to.”

Viktor took his position in a corner of the room, standing on his right leg open with his left leg stretched behind him. He brought his left arm to his chest, the hand right above his breast, while his right arm cradled his head, which fell slightly back in abandon.

“This is…”

“Now, Yuuri.”

Yuuri hit play.

The music started, slow, sad, and Viktor danced with it. One slow step, then another, crossing his legs before arching his back while his arms traced elegant arcs in front of him. Yuuri knew that music, Kami, how could he not? Yet it had taken him a moment to recognize the variation, and still he double-checked the name of the piece on the I-Pod’s screen to make sure.

 _Nikiya’s death_ , from _La Bayadère_.

It was a female variation.

And yet Viktor was dancing to it with all the grace, and intensity, and the torment the role required. His body wasn’t that of a prima ballerina, his built was certainly heavier than that, there was a strength in the way he moved that would not suit the gentle temple dancer Nikiya, and the tattoos on his arms were a constant reminder of who Viktor _was_ ; and yet, Viktor had made that music’s elegance and struggle his own, and it _worked_.

When the music came to an end, and Viktor held his hands out in front of himself, waiting for an offer that would never come, Yuuri was too dumbfounded to react.

“So, what do you think? I know it’s not exactly what one would be expecting me to dance to, I mean, Lilija always insisted I should focus on Prince Desirè from the Sleeping Beauty or something like that but I never really-”

“It’s perfect. I loved it.”

Viktor’s smile couldn’t grow wider.

Yuuri smiled in return.

Viktor extended his hand.

“Will you dance with me, Yuuri?”

Yuuri took Viktor’s hand.

_Forces of gravity taking me, taking me_

_Weightlessness forsaking me_

_Ooh this pull is astronomical_

\---

As he waited for Yuuri to change into more suitable clothes for dancing and doing a quick warm-up, Viktor skimmed through his I-Pod to find a good music. Oh, he had cursed himself so much for not being able to offer Yuuri to dance with him when they were on the ice, on Yuuri’s ground. Well, the ballet studio would have to suffice, given Viktor’s stupid incapacity to follow Yuuri were Yuuri felt most at ease.

“Did you find something suitable?” Yuuri asked, noticing Viktor had finally started trying a few steps.

“Yeah. It’s a duet version of an Aria I always liked, _Stammi Vicino_. Lilija choreographed the single and the duet versions.”

“I never heard of it, what does it mean?”

“‘Stay close to me’. It’s an aria about love and longing.”

“Seems beautiful.”

“I’ll show you the single-person piece first.”

It was powerful music, once more, full of sentiment and jealousy, but hope as well. Once again, Viktor’s interpretation was quite on point, even though Yuuri had to admit it lacked the strength and confidence he had seen in Nikiya’s variation.

“This one is best danced as a duet.” Viktor apologized as the music changed, and the Duetto version played. “There go the steps…”

It had been a while since Yuuri had last danced -like, _ballet_ danced-, but he believed he could pull it off.

They began, with no rush to their practice, Viktor first teaching Yuuri his part, close, ever so close, touching him gently when he needed to guide him, then without shying away as they finally tried the steps together. By the time they were able to dance together with the music, it was undeniable how the tension between them had built up.

They were close, God, so close, their bodies barely touching as they danced in sync with the music, the notes flowing powerful through their limbs just like the desire that was building up between them. Yuuri could feel Viktor’s breath ghosting over his neck, his fingers brushing Yuuri’s forearms, Viktor’s hand gently but firmly placing itself on Yuuri’s torso as Yuuri spread his arms and lifted his leg into an arabesque, letting Viktor slowly making him spin as he walked around him. As the singing voices faded into silence to leave room for the powerful violins, Yuuri gave himself up to the music and to the guidance of Viktor’s hands.

In the finale, as the female voice invited her male counterpart to leave with her, and the other fervently declared his readiness, Viktor held Yuuri in his arms, letting him arch his back in abandon as Yuuri wrapped his arms around Viktor’s neck, his left leg slightly bent while the other went up in front of him to reach Viktor’s waist, as Viktor hid his face in the crook of Yuuri’s neck.

It was only when Viktor’s fingers dug into his back that Yuuri realized they had not moved from their final position even when the music had been silent for a while.

Viktor’s breath was heavy on Yuuri’s neck.

“Vitja…” Yuuri flushed as he murmured the diminutive.

Viktor lifted them up, but his mouth didn’t move away from Yuuri’s skin. He inhaled deeply.

“You’re so beautiful, Yuuri, it’s hard to resist.”

Yuuri didn’t need to ask Viktor to elaborate further.

“You… you don’t have to.”

Yuuri let out a shaky breath as Viktor’s mouth finally made contact with his skin, leaving butterfly kisses at the base of his neck and then up, up to his ear. By the time Viktor bit on his earlobe, Yuuri was already starting to feel a strain in his pants.

Viktor sucked on his earlobe.

“Call me like that again, Yuuri.”, he all but pleaded, one of his hands sneaking under Yuuri’s shirt and up his back while the other moved in the opposite direction to grab Yuuri’s ass. Viktor’s hips pressed against Yuuri’s, and there was no denying he was already fully hard.

“V-Vitja…”

That seemed to do Viktor in.

He pushed Yuuri back against the wall, assaulting his mouth as he held him with one arm around his waist and the other at the back of Yuuri’s head, still careful to avoid Yuuri banging his head against the wall. And Yuuri wasted no time and replied in kind, rocking his hips against Viktor’s to alleviate some of the tension that was building up between his legs, until they were both left panting and moaning in each other’s mouth.

Then, Yuuri pushed forward, sending Viktor tumbling to the floor and straddling him, pulling Viktor’s shirt up and tugging at it until the pakhan lifted himself up long enough for Yuuri to pull the offending garment off completely.

With Viktor’s chest completely exposed to him for the first time, black tattoos marring porcelain white skin, Yuuri resumed his assault. His mouth descended on the flushed skin covering Viktor’s clavicles (apparently, Viktor was a chest blusher), then moved up to bite at the base of his neck, earning a moan from the pakhan.

“Y-Yuuri…!”

Viktor was gasping under him as Yuuri chose another spot to bite and suck on, and the pakhan bucked his hips, positively starting a desperate grinding session as Yuuri left a series of red marks that would be hard to hide later.

Viktor’s hands went to Yuuri’s ass, adding to the friction as they pulled Yuuri’s pants and underwear down, exposing his buttocks. Yuuri bit on a particularly sensitive spot, and Viktor grabbed Yuuri’s ass cheeks, parting them slightly as his fingers moved closer to his hole.

“Vitja…” Yuuri moaned, moving from Viktor’s neck to his mouth, kissing him sloppily in his frenzy. “Vitja, I want you…”

“Yuuri… Yuuri, wait.”

Suddenly, Viktor’s hands were gone from his ass, and the pakhan was pushing him back, sitting up.

“Viktor, what-?”

“Ssh, Yuuri.” Viktor held Yuuri in his arms, letting him sit in his lap as he stroked his back. “Listen to me. I still want you, _zolotse_ , you can’t imagine how much.”

Indeed, there was no misinterpreting the hard erection between Viktor’s legs, or the way he trembled as if he was trying to keep himself still, his breath still heavy against Yuuri’s skin.

“Just not here, not like this. I want us to wait a little more.”

Yuuri made to protest, but Viktor silenced him again with a kiss.

“In Moscow. We already had our share of inconvenient places. I want this to happen right, Yuuri. In Moscow we'll have everything we need. I’ll give you anything you want, and more. In Moscow. I promise."

Yuuri swallowed, looking Viktor straight in the eyes.

"Don't you forget about this promise."

"I could never.”

_Ooh this pull is astronomical_

\---

Yuuri came back into his room late that night.

After their dance session and the subsequent cold shower they carefully had in turns, Viktor had taken him for a long walk down the Nevskij Prospekt; then they had dined together in a beautiful yet unpretentious restaurant on the Neva, before going for another long walk along the river. The rest of the day after leaving the studio had been spent in mostly companionable silence or quiet talk about ice skating, ballet, music and whatnot, but Yuuri still was ready to call it another successful date. He had even managed to get the pakhan to talk a little of his passion for blades of all kind, and perform some butterfly knife tricks for him (Yuuri would have gladly reciprocated by showing off with his gun and his perfect aim, but _that_ would have quite literally meant blowing up his cover in a single shot).

As they got home, Viktor had started giving him instructions about their impending leave for Moscow, and when he leaned in to kiss him goodnight on the cheek, Yuuri had moved his head to turn it into a _real_ kiss.

Viktor had chuckled, reprimanding him for his impatience, and Yuuri had responded by silencing him with another kiss, which led to a full-fledged make-out session in Viktor’s car. Yuuri honking the horn of the Cadillac by mistake when trying to move from his seat to Viktor’s lap was what finally broke them off, and Yuuri chuckled at spotting Viktor’s flushed chest peeking from his partly open shirt.

Viktor’s chest blush was indeed the cutest thing.

As Yuuri got into bed, he passed by the bouquet of blue roses on his desk, and a smile crept up his lips as he took the card with him. He needed to start thinking about what he could get Viktor for his birthday, he decided (he had never asked Viktor when his birthday was, but everyone and their mom in Petersburg knew that the Living Legend was born on December 25th, and that was hard to forget, especially when some people in Yuuri’s circles had started referring to the young pakhan as ‘the Russian Jesus Christ’ for that reason- even though the joke between the Yakuzas was used in scorn, as a mocking of Viktor’s ‘Living Legend’ nickname, and it wasn’t even really accurate, considering Russians celebrated the Orthodox Christmas on January 7th, Yuuri thought).

It was only after a good ten minutes of racking his brains thinking about possible presents (he had come up with a few dance-related ideas, but it wasn't anything Viktor couldn't buy himself ten times over without even knowing the money had left his wallet) that Yuuri realized that, if everything went down as he had planned in Moscow, Viktor Nikiforov would never live to turn twenty-eight in any case.

_If I lay here_

_If I just lay here_

_Would you lie with me and just forget the world?_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fyi, I'm Italian and I highly doubt that even in Sicily the sea is warm enough for a midnight swim in December. Except if you're Viktor Nikiforov, of course. Or possibly just Russian.  
> \---  
> If you're on Tumblr and you'd like to chat, feel free to hmu at [@vik-mombuchika](http://vik-mombuchika.tumblr.com/)  
> And for those who'd like to directly pester the Pakhan himself, [@thepakhaninstpetersburg](https://thepakhaninstpetersburg.tumblr.com/) is the RP and ask blog everything was born from! The infamous Viktor Sergeevich Nikiforov himself will be answering your questions in person, though, so... do it at your own risk!  
> \---  
> Lyrics from:  
> Blackmore's Night - Locked Within the Crystal Ball  
> Svrcina - Burning Heart  
> Svrcina - Astronomical  
> Snow Patrol - Chasing Cars


	6. Muscovite Interlude Pt.1 - Serenade for Two

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> But the truth is -Viktor Nikiforov is the pakhan, and this is a fact Yuuri Katsuki cannot afford to forget.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, we're finally reaching the last act of this fic, and hopefully, some of your questions will start finding answers here!  
> Plus, some details about the Living Legend's past are revealed...  
> But on to replying to all your lovely comments~  
> @satansdattir I'm sorry for having missed a week, but I'm also glad people get excited at seeing the story updated! I am counting on not having any more delays for the last chapter to come!  
> @spidela Thank you so much, lovely! I'm glad you appreciated those bits about Viktor's take on things... Last chapter was really important for shedding some light on his charatcer and his general take on life.  
> Which also takes me to @Nads and @theinvisibleink07 's comments: Hopefully this chpater will give you more insight on Yuuri's stance right now. No matter his developing feelings for Viktor, he is still Yakuza, and his and Viktor's approach to their feelings and roles are quite different... I could be raving about Viktor's approach to life all night, but I'll spare you the pain (then again, brave people who are not afraind of rantings can find me on Tumblr :P ).  
> @DMP1013 If you're talking about Little Viktor finally getting some well deserved relief, well. I guess patience and discipline is the key here... (*Viktor whining in the distance*)  
> @Olic Thank you so much, I hope this chapter keeps you hooked as the other ones did! And, you got me there, with the fic title! Afetr last chapter I'm sure you noticed, music and dancing are an important theme in this fic, and after racking my brains trying to figure out a good title, the idea struck me...  
> Oh and I forgot to leave you a reference for [Nikiya's Death variation](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=hz6hRNW2O98) which Viktor dances for Yuuri during last chapter. Consider Viktor only performs the first, sadder, part.

_Cold in the violence_

_After the war_

_Hope is a fire to keep us warm_

The two weeks leading to his and Viktor’s departure for Moscow couldn’t have flown faster for Yuuri. Indeed, the date kept changing so quickly on his phone -or at least so it seemed to him- that when the morning came Giacometti was ringing at his doorbell and asking him if Yuuri’s luggage was ready, Yuuri had almost asked _ready for what_.

Indeed, the days had passed one after the other in a frenzied chase, with Yuuri too occupied with worrying over the impending departure -over the impending _mission_ __\- to notice.

And there was St. Petersburg to visit, too. Indeed, as Viktor had told him, St. Petersburg was a fascinating city, once you stopped being too worried about getting off at the right subway station, or not catching the bus that went in the wrong direction. There was the Winter Palace to visit, and the Hermitage -Yuuri had insisted with Viktor until the pakhan finally accepted to accompany him in a tour, that weekend, and honestly, it hadn’t taken _that_ much- and then the Sunday Ginza, Yuuri really wanted to have another date there too (“But Yuuri” Viktor had tried to argue “Haven’t we decided to come back in summer?”, to which Yuuri had just pouted and insisted “I want to go _tonight_.”, and Viktor couldn’t really resist Yuuri’s pout, now, could he?). Viktor also relented when Yuuri called him one afternoon, asking him if he would take him skating at the outdoor rink in Okhta Park (‘relented’, in that case, meant that Viktor immediately had Chris postpone the meeting with Vasilisa Konovalova, owner of the shipping company that covered for most of the Solntsevskaja Bratva’s gun trafficking outside Russia), and Yuuri spent a lot more time on the Neva embankments than he did attending classes at his university.

In the turn of a week, his reputation as a model student had started to plummet, but it didn’t really matter, did it? He would soon be gone, never to see St. Petersburg again. Yuuri was sure that if he did manage to kill Petersburg’s Living Legend, setting foot in the city again would be tantamount to signing his own death warrant, so much St. Petersburg loved its pakhan; and if he didn’t… well, if he didn’t, if he _failed_ , it wasn’t like he was going to live to see the sun rise again in any case). So, he wanted to make sure he could drink in as much of the city as he could, while he still _could_.

 _Of the city… and of Viktor_ , his friend Phichit’s voice nagged him at the back of his mind, but Yuuri pushed it back, forcing himself not to use the selfie he and Viktor had taken at Okhta Park as his phone background. The part he was playing did not require him to do anything of the sort, after all, and his mission was the only reason he would forsake the photo of his old dog Vicchan for, right? _Right_?

 _Alright. I_ might _have developed a crush for him_ , Yuuri finally admitted to himself the night before they left for Moscow, after his heart had taken a leap when Viktor had texted him unexpectedly because ‘ _I know its 1 am but i am stuck in a stupid negotiation with an idiot and i just wish we were together cuddling on the couch and watching the gpf instead of thinking how i can get away with cutting this guys tongue off so send me a kiss ???’_.

But he couldn’t really be put at fault for that, could he? After all, Viktor Nikiforov was notoriously hot, and charming (filthy rich and powerful too, but that was the least interesting part to Yuuri, who, after all, was the heir to a rich and powerful mafia family as well). Also adorable and possibly a dork, even though only a very selected few knew about that side of the pakhan.

But that was the point, wasn’t it? No matter how hot, how charming, how _adorkable_ he was, Viktor was still _the pakhan_. No matter how well they seemed to get along, Viktor’s family name remained Nikiforov, and Yuuri’s own Katsuki, and it was the Nikiforovs, in their attempt to expand their influence in Detroit, that had, no matter how indirectly, caused Kastuki Hisato’s death. And even if Yuuri’s uncle’s death had been but a trick of fate, even if it had been by complete chance that Hisato Katuski was hitting the same nightclub where Eric Ayers’ Nazis had attacked the Russians, even if no one had any real control over stray bullets in a shootout, not even the Living Legend himself, so that no one knew whose bullet it was that had taken the old Yakuza’s life… even so, Yuuri Katsuki was not the kind of man to choose a fleeting crush over lifelong ties with his family.

 _Crushes come and go. This one will pass too, once this mission is over and done with_ , Yuuri concluded, turning the card that Viktor had sent him for his birthday face-down on his nightstand, the one that read ‘For my favourite figure skater’.

Still, that same card had found its place in Yuuri’s wallet the next morning, as the young Katsuki closed the door of his Petersburg apartment behind himself for the last time.

\---

December 10th, 2016

St. Petersburg, Russia

Pulkovo Airport

8:59

Viktor had been waiting for him in front of his private jet on an airstrip in Pulkovo, St. Petersburg's international airport, clad in a perfectly ironed, elegantly formal grey suit. He was talking to a small group of men and women whose average age couldn't settle at less than fifty, and between them Yuuri immediately recognized Viktor's counsellor, the old Yakov Feltsman.

Yuuri swallowed. It was the first time he really saw Viktor officially acting as the pakhan, and the image he was projecting, surrounded by people that were for the most part at least twice his age and still answered to him, was chilling to say the least.

In that moment, Yuuri knew there was no lying to himself any longer. This was Viktor Sergeevich Nikiforov, pakhan of the Solntsevskaja Bratva, head of the family that had become the Katsuki’s sworn enemy, leader of the men that were step-by-step decimating the Jis, the Yakuza’s allies. Viktor Sergeevich Nikiforov, the man Yuuri had been sent to Russia to kill.

Viktor turned, and his face went from focused to smiling in the matter of a moment, and with a grace that was all Nikiforov. Lifting Yuuri's hand, he kissed it fondly.

" _Zolotse_. Your presence here brings light to an otherwise extremely boring early morning. Get in the aircraft, and make yourself at home. I'll be right behind you."

With another smile and a nod, Viktor had given Yuuri his back again, and was speaking to his men in tight Russian, an exchange of which Yuuri only got a small part. Enough to understand Viktor was giving his most trusted lieutenants orders to follow in his absence, however. As Chris guided him firmly up the boarding ladder, Yuuri was certain he had heard Viktor telling one of the older men, Mishnev, to conduct a thorough investigation over all shipments headed to the Eastern cities, killing off any Yakuza who seemed to be snooping a little too close- to which a woman (Vasilisa Konovalova, Yuuri knew her from the information his family had provided him with), nodded impatiently.

Then Chris was pushing him inside the aircraft, and the conversation was shut off.

The insides of the plane proved Yuuri's suspicions that Russians had no qualms over investing money in luxuries, and that Viktor Nikiforov was no exception to the rule. The cabin was furnished with big, comfortable chairs and reclining tables, which could actually be expected on a jet, but that was not all. In the middle of the cabin, a luxurious couch made a show of itself, and a big TV screen camped on the wall in front of it. Between the couch and TV screen stood a large low table, and a bottle of what Yuuri immediately classified as expensive champagne occupied the middle of it in an ice-bucket, together with two elegant flutes.

The images on the TV screen kept changing, and it was then that Yuuri noticed the presence of a teen slouched on the couch.

"[Oh, look who's here. A pig.]" the Russian Ice Tiger grunted as he changed the channel again.

"Yurij says hello." Chris interjected, trying to soften the edges of what the other had said, to which the boy just tsk'ed.

"If Mr. Plisetskij is going to come with us for this trip, perhaps he wants to know that I can understand a fair level of Russian, even if I'm not confident enough speaking it.", Yuuri said, deciding not to back away from the challenge the boy was indirectly throwing his way.

Plisetskij's eyes were suddenly burning holes through him, as Chris whistled in appreciation at the way Yuuri faced the volatile teenager.

"Whatever, pig. Enjoy Viktor's company while you can. He gets tired soon, anyway."

With a last glare in Yuuri's direction, Yurij Plisestkij left the couch and headed for the pilot's cabin.

"[Oi, Otabek! Let me stay in the cockpit with you, I refuse to breathe the same air as those two idiots!]" he shouted, earning his entrance in the cockpit next to the two pilots.

"You must forgive our Yuratchka."

A chuckle from behind him made Yuuri spin and focus his attention on Viktor, who had just joined them in the aircraft.

"He's an incredibly talented youth, but he's seventeen, and this means he's still going through the peak of his rebellious adolescent phase. It doesn’t get in the way of his job, well, not too much, and as I said, he’s incredibly good at what he does, so I guess I can turn a blind eye on his antics for the most part. Haven't we all been through that phase, after all?"

"I guess so." Yuuri smiled condescendingly, watching Viktor sit on the couch with a contented sigh and turning the TV off. "I wonder how yours was.", he added almost as an afterthought, as he took Viktor’s invitation to take a seat next to him on the couch.

"Mine?” Viktor said amusedly. “You should definitely ask Chris about that, he has _stories_ to tell."

The pakhan smiled, exchanging a knowing look with his bodyguard. The Swiss, who had just made sure the hold door was closed before signalling to the pilot they were ready for departure with a knock, took a seat in a chair behind them.

"Well, apart from the time you tried to drunk-dance Prince Charm-"

"Prince _Desirè_."

"…Prince WhateverTheFuckItWas, on the Embankments and almost fell in the Neva… I guess that the _climax_ of your rebelling phase was deciding to offer your ass to half the male population of the Emperor that was older than 35 within the time you hit 18, and actually _give_ it to the rest."

"There was a _strategy_ behind it, ok?"

Viktor tried to sound offended.

"Vik, you were giving it away as if it wasn't yours to begin with."

"Alright, I guess you could say I had a certain fascination for men in their thirties at the time."

“Konovalov was 49 when you started going out with him.”

“That’s another story, Chris.”

"You still owe me for the time I covered for you when your father came searching for you at the Emperor and you were letting Konovalov eat you out in the VIP lounge."

"It was my birthday and he said I deserved a special present!"

"Konovalov?" Yuuri interjected. "Is that...?"

"Artjom Konovalov.” At hearing Yuuri’s voice, Viktor had instantly sobered up, looking almost guilty. “He called the big shots in Petersburg when I first came to the city. He owned the biggest shipping company based in Lomonosov Port."

"Oh. And the one you killed at the Emperor... that must have been his son, right?"

"Precisely. Fjodor Artjomovich Konovalov. I put him in his father's place when I got rid of old Artjom, and what does he do to repay me? As soon as two filthy Chinese try stirring up some chaos, he runs to lick their asses. Now it's his sister Vasilisa leading the company. Loyal woman, albeit a bit annoying at times."

"I see."

Yuuri looked down in his lap.

"Does the thought of me with Konovalov disturb you?"

_Did it?_

Yuuri wasn’t sure. Or, to be completely honest, he wasn’t sure _why it did_.

"I... I don’t know."

"My father didn't serve me this city on a silver platter, Yuuri. I had to fight nails and teeth for it, conquering it inch by inch by whatever means possible. Konovalov was a necessary move in the game."

"I know, it's just... Picturing you like that..."

“I kind of liked old Artjom, I won’t lie to you on that. But the reason I approached him in the first place was purely business. I’m sure you understand.”

Yuuri swallowed.

“I… I do.”

"For all that matters, I put an end to it when I was 24."

Yuuri nodded, studying Viktor's figure as the plane's engine reared to life. He could finally _see_ him now, as Viktor took off his suit jacket, leaving it on the armrest, and loosened his tie. The pakhan in St. Petersburg. The boy with a fascination for knives who had fought his way up to power until the underground of the second city in Russia completely answered to him, earning the name of Knife Boy first, and of Living Legend later. The man who was waging a war on Yuuri's family as a revenge for his father's imprisonment.

As if to strengthen the image, just in that moment Chris leaned in, holding his phone.

“Sorry to interrupt, Vik, I have Redhead on the line. They found two Canadians snooping around our warehouses in Lomonosov. They killed one and got the other.”

“Fucking Canadians. Tell Boris to carve the fucker’s eye out and send it to JJ in a box. Have it delivered to that pub in Detroit, I’m sure his girlfriend will see to it. But make sure he doesn’t kill him, I want to have a word with the little shit when I come back. And have Andrej put a squad together and turn every single corner of this city upside down until we find those pests. I don't care if the Armenians are on his side. This story needs to end.”

Chris got up and left for the back of the craft, relaying Viktor’s orders.

“ _Mama Sibir. [Mother Siberia]_ ” Viktor groaned, massaging his forehead in frustration.

“Viktor?”

Yuuri’s voice shook Viktor out of his thoughts, and he turned, gifting Yuuri with one of his usual smiles.

“Forgive me, _zolotse_.”, he said, extending his hand to offer Yuuri a spot right next to him on the couch as the plane started the take-off.

Yuuri didn’t hesitate, and let Viktor wrap his arms around him as they left Pulkovo. Oh, he really preferred Viktor like this. Seeing him acting as the pakhan kept chilling Yuuri to the bone with thoughts of his mission.

That, and part of him wanted to ask Viktor if he could help.

“The only thing I hate about taking you to Moscow with me, is that I won’t be able to focus 100% on you for the whole duration of our trip. I’m free for today but starting tomorrow… Ugh, I don’t even want to think about it.” Viktor apologized, rubbing circles on Yuuri’s arm with his thumb.

“It’s… it’s fine. You’re going there for… uh, work, after all.”

“Yeah.” Viktor sighed, holding Yuuri closer and kissing his temple.

“Maybe I can help you some way?”

_What the hell, Yuuri._

Since when did he let the traitorous parts of his mind get control over his mouth so freely?

Viktor, on his part, was studying him intently, the corners of his lips tilted up in the beginning of a smile, his eyes glinting with a spark that was half-amusement and half-excitement.

“You want in on my dirty business, Yuuri? Shouldn’t you be focusing on your diplomat studies and leave the messy work to others?”

Yuuri frowned, looking up at Viktor in defiance.

“Viktor, I can read between the lines of your Telegrams, you know. You killed at least ten people ever since our first date.”

A smile crept up Viktor’s lips.

“You seem rather unfazed by it.”

 _Of course I am_ , Yuuri wanted to say, but couldn’t. _I am just like you._

“I am not just some cute waiter at the Emperor.” _I am just like you._ “I walked into this knowing full well what it meant.” _I am just like you._ “I want it, Viktor. I want this world.”

_I want you._

The corners of Viktor’s lips went up, but it wasn’t the smile Yuuri had come to know until then, it was the devilish grin of the Living Legend, the one that made his enemies and his allies alike shudder in fear. But at the same time, Viktor’s eyes shone a warm light Yuuri couldn’t name as anything other than pride.

“Then you shall have it. I’ll give it all to you, _zolotse_ , anything you want.”

 _I want_ you _._

The words hit Yuuri’s mind with such naked and blunt clarity that anything else around him was ruled out, and it was only when Viktor’s lips descended on him, taking his mouth hostage after murmuring “I _am_ yours.” that Yuuri realized he had actually _said_ them. Or mouthed them at least. Enough for Viktor to catch them anyway.

It was too late to think about it, however, because Viktor’s kiss stole his mouth and his thoughts away, and as Yuuri abandoned himself to it, he realized something else, too.

He was tired of playing the good boy part. He wanted Viktor to see him for who he really was. He wanted Viktor to see -to _love_ \- the young Yakuza heir, and not the International Relations student. He wanted to show Viktor his ability with the rifle, he wanted Viktor to clap “ _Otlichno!_ ” excitedly as Yuuri shot a target at more than a 1000 m distance, or as he took out five men in rapid succession with five consecutive shots of his gun.

He wanted to see Viktor’s infamous tricks with the butterfly, he wanted to see him take his knives to a gun fight and actually come out on top of it. He wanted to be the one to have his back when the pakhan did so.

_Crushes come and go, Yuuri, they come and go, and this one is but a bad crush, so it will go too, eventually, once you finally have Nikiforov’s knife at his throat._

Yuuri had to admit, part of him (and not a small one at that) liked the thought of holding Viktor’s knife at the pakhan’s throat. It actually excited him, in more ways than one.

“Yuuri…”

Viktor moaned under him -when had Yuuri pushed him down on his back on the couch? When had he started devouring the pakhan’s neck while he kept his wrist pinned above his head?- and raked the fingers of his free hand through Yuuri’s hair.

Yuuri hesitated, suddenly realizing the position they were in and feeling shame wash over him at the thought of having let his control slip to this point.

“Aren’t you being a little too eager?” Viktor teased, and it was obvious from his chuckle that he was anything but complaining. “It’s not even 10 o’clock in the morning, and we have seven whole days ahead of us. And as many others as you want, when we come back to Petersburg.”

 _Actually, we don’t_ , Yuuri thought, but this time made sure to keep his tongue under a tight leash.

“S- sorry.”

“Don’t be. I like you like this.”

Viktor was still smiling, splayed out on the couch under him, shirt partly open and tie askew -a slight glimpse of his chest was showing and, God, did Yuuri love the blush spreading on that pale skin, diffusing up his neck to his cheeks. The pakhan looked _ravishing_.

“You said we should wait, though.” Yuuri forced himself to admit, blushing up to his ears.

“Indeed we should. Unless you want Chris to join in the fun.”

Yuuri’s blush only worsened as he spotted the Swiss bodyguard waving casually at him from a chair in a corner before blowing him a kiss with a wink.

Viktor laughed as he got up.

“I’d say we can leave this for later tonight.”

“Uh… y-yeah…” Yuuri mumbled as the pakhan straightened his clothes.

“We still have at least one hour of flight ahead of us. I suggest we rest until we get to Moscow.”

Viktor got up from the couch and uncorked the champagne, that had laid forgotten on the table until then. He poured some in the flutes, offering one to Yuuri.

“To our little muscovite trip.” he cheered as he sat back down next to Yuuri and made their glasses clink. “To the Bolshoi, and to all the days we’re going to spend together… and the nights as well, of course.”

 _To all of that, Viktor, and to all the things I’d love to do with you in the days to come._ Yuuri thought as they drank their champagne and then settled for a nap on the couch in each other’s arms. _Even though you’re going to die tonight._

_When it rains, it pours_

_There will be blood in the water_

_Cold to the core_

_Faith falls hard on our shoulders_

\---

December 10th, 2016

Moscow, Russia

Nikiforov Mansion

19:56

Yuuri adjusted his new tie nervously, making sure it fell smoothly under the jacket of the suit Viktor had bought him during their afternoon shopping venture.

It wasn’t the thought of the expensive formal wear he was clad in that put him on edge. Hell, Yuuri Katsuki knew formal, and he knew expensive as well, both in western suits and traditional Japanese yukatas.

No, it wasn’t the clothes that showed the source of Yuuri’s nervousness. More like the light caress of silk underneath them, the tickling of lace on his skin, as if Viktor’s suave promises of a night of vice had taken a physical form in the sinful surprise Yuuri had hidden under his suit.

Yes, the suit. Viktor knew about the suit, and the tie, the shirt and shoes of course, he had paid for it all with no care for the final price. And he had watched Yuuri try all the outfits his favourite tailor’s shop could produce in the turn of an afternoon with eyes that said he was looking at the most beautiful man in the world, whom he wanted dressed in the most beautiful clothes in the world.

So yes, Viktor knew about Yuuri’s attire for the evening (at least the one that showed), for it had been him to tell Yuuri to bring formal clothes as well as his usual casual ones for their trip, even though Yuuri didn’t need to be told; and it had been Viktor to offer to buy Yuuri a whole new outfit, as the one Yuuri took out of his suitcase on Viktor’s request once they had settled down in the Nikiforov mansion in Moscow was immediately ruled out, in the pakhan’s own words, as ‘utterly unflattering and totally outdated”.

It turned out that not only Viktor and Yuuri had much different tastes in fashion (Yuuri was still not sure he could forgive Viktor for threatening to burn Yuuri’s favourite tie, relenting only after Yuuri accepted to be taken on a shopping hunt during the afternoon), but also that the pakhan was also quite the connoisseur when it came to high fashion, and surprisingly willing to compromise when choosing an outfit for someone else, accepting to forget for a moment his very personal penchant for extra. The final result was… well, definitely better than Yuuri’s own first choice, and Yuuri didn’t even feel uncomfortable in it. Indeed, it suited him.

(Yuuri had to admit, his fashion sense was much more developed when it came to Japanese traditional clothing.)

So yes, Viktor knew about the new suit. What he didn’t know about, was the thing hidden under it, Yuuri’s last surprise for the pakhan.

Yuuri studied himself in the mirror one last time, making sure his hair was perfectly slicked back and that putting his glasses on hadn’t ruined it, when he heard a knock on the door.

“Mr. Fukuhara?” It was Natasha, one of the oldest maids of the mansion. “Mr. Viktor is waiting for you downstairs.”

“Thank you, Natasha. I’ll be on my way, then.” Yuuri replied smoothly as he took his coat, the silky caress of satin under his shirt and pants feeding into his Eros persona, boosting his confidence enough to kickstart the night’s act as he left his room.

The old maid eyed him curiously, wondering why she hadn’t found any traces of the natural shyness she would expect in a university student that had suddenly been thrown into a world that was clearly out of his league.

\---

“Yuuri, _zolotse_. I am not sure I can find the words to say how _stunning_ you look tonight.”

Indeed, the change of style must have had its effect on the pakhan as well, because Viktor looked completely stricken as he watched Yuuri come down the stairs to the main hall of the mansion.

“It’s just a suit and some gel in my hair, Viktor.”

No, it was much more than that, and Viktor could see it, even though he could not exactly put it into words. It was as if Yuuri Fukuhara had suddenly got rid of the shell of the university student to take his rightful place in a different world. In that suit, and with that confident look in his eyes, Yuuri wouldn’t have looked out of place standing next to Viktor during one of his meetings. Next to Viktor… or in front of him, at the opposite side of the negotiating table. For the first time, Yuuri blended in with the rest of Viktor’s life, and Viktor’s heart took a leap that would have made Nurejev proud.

Viktor cupped Yuuri’s face.

“Still, you look ravishing tonight.”

“Later, Viktor.” Yuuri stopped the pakhan with a hand on his chest. “We have a table for two waiting for us at the Turandot.”

Viktor pouted.

“Can’t I at least get a kiss?”

“Only if you promise to behave.”

Viktor’s smirk promised anything but.

“[Oi, old man! Get your ass moving, the sooner you get to the restaurant the sooner you come back and I can finally go to my room and forget about this whole shit!]”

Oh, yes. Viktor had mentioned something about Yurij Plisetskij tagging along for the night as part of their security.

The pakhan burst out in a laugh, acknowledging that there was a great degree of truth in the teenager’s suggestion, and with that they were off into the night that was to become the last one in Viktor Nikiforov’s life.

_Feeling my way through the darkness_

_Guided by a beating heart_

_I can't tell where the journey will end_

_But I know where to start_

\---

December 10th, 2016

Moscow, Russia

Turandot

22:46

Dinnertime went by nicely as their chatting moved smoothly between the subjects that most interested them. Viktor made sure the wine kept flowing in their glasses, and this helped them relax into the conversation. By the time they were ordering desserts, they had already emptied two bottles of firm white, and champagne was on its way to their table.

It wasn’t like they _needed_ the alcohol to keep the conversation flowing between them, really, but it was nice, getting tipsy (in Yuuri’s case perhaps a little more than that) in one of the fanciest restaurants of the Russian capital, throwing funny stories back and forth while their hands searched for each other across the table, and their feet under it.

“ ‘If there’s something good that comes from all that ugly martial arts training you’re doing is that you have legs that can actually _jump_ so stop complaining like a 3 year old girl and work on those _cabrioles_ , you look like a penguin rolling down a cliff.’, that’s what she said. She had me study that variation for the _whole winter_ , and I _hated_ it!”

Yuuri giggled over his glass. He had never met the rumoured Lilija Baranovskaja, the Bolshoi’s once prima ballerina and current wife to Yakov Feltsman -not to mention Viktor Nikiforov’s personal ballet instructor- but she already fitted the ‘fearsome Russian ballet instructor’ stereotype perfectly.

“But why this hate for poor Desirè? What did he do to you?”

“I don’t know… he’s such a show-off!” Viktor lamented, waving a hand in the air.

“Says the one who drunk-danced his variation on the Neva Embankments.”

“Yuuri!” Viktor pouted.

“Or was Chris not telling the truth?”

“Oh, no no, he was. It was him who caught me when I lost track of where I was at the second _coupé jeté_ and tried to jump the third right into the river. Not one of my brightest moments, I admit. And in front of my father, too.”

“If it makes you feel better, I pole-danced in front of my entire family at one of our gatherings in Hasetsu. And my father was even more shitfaced than me, so he was throwing money my way. I bought myself a new pair of skates with that money.”

Viktor was too occupied laughing to explicitly offer to install a pole into his Neva house, but he made a mental note to text Yakov to make the necessary arrangements later.

“What kind of man was your father?”

The question shot through Viktor’s laughter, killing it off like a bullet to the heart.

“My father?”

“Uh… y-yeah. There are a lot of stories about him too, the mighty Sephiroth… but you, well, you’re his son, so I was curious…”

“He is a man of steel.” Viktor cut in as the waiter came to take away their empty dessert plates and to offer them a last shot of vodka. “Unwavering and unyielding, in public as much as in private life. But I liked it when he let me sit on his knees and play with his old army knife.”

“How old were you?”

“I don’t know… five, six?”

“Ah.”

“It was sheathed, you know. Safety first, even though I kept trying to unsheathe it.”

They exchanged a smile across the table.

“My father isn’t a bad man, he’s just… well, let’s say he is not exactly the life of the party, you know? I guess in certain respects I took a lot more after Genesis, his partner.”

Yuuri listened intently, trying to picture how life might have been for a young Viktor in the Nikiforov mansion, with his austere father and Sergej Nikiforov’s more than volatile companion (Yuuri knew about the infamous Arkadij Leshenko too -or Genesis Rhapsodos, as he had gone by ever since coming back from the Afghanistan War-, the old pakhan’s not-exactly-official partner and lifetime lover, it was all in the Katsuki family’s files).

“Did you get along with him? With your father, I mean.”

“Mmh. He wasn’t the one you went to for a laugh, but he was… loving, in his own way. He was very occupied, of course, but he always found the time for me in one way or the other. He let me stay with him when he went over paperwork or when he discussed things with Yakov. Genesis says that I always got tired of playing on the floor and climbed on him when he was in the middle of issuing orders. I do remember he kept talking even as I pulled on his hair to get his attention, and that’s when he would take out the knife and give it to me to keep myself occupied until he was done. Then he would sit with me on the floor and play with my figurines. I had toy soldiers and he used them to show me stories of the war, you know, he did the Afghanistan War, and he told me of when he met Genesis… or we built strange buildings with Legos, or played with my toy cars… My favourite one was a pink Cadillac.”

“You really have a thing for pink Cadillacs.”

“Ever since I saw that one model in a hobbies store in the Tverskoj District, apparently. I insisted so much with my father that he finally accepted to buy it for my birthday even though it was not exactly a children toy.”

“You seemed to be really close, after all. I wish it was the same with my family.”

“You weren’t close?”

“I didn’t spend much time with them, they were always so busy with the _onsen_ … I can’t remember it well because I was so little, but those weren’t easy times for us apparently. A lot of… well, competition. There was my sister, though. She is older than me, and she has always looked after me. You can say she can become really protective when she wants to be.”

Indeed, Yuuri remembered all too well how difficult it had been for his sister to send him on this mission… into the lion’s den, as Mari had told him once.

“She’s a very strong woman, but kind too. She would even let me win when we wrestled… from time to time.”

“It must have been great to have another child at home to play with.”

“Yeah, she was always so energetic. She often took me to the ninja castle to play in the garden.”

“Ninja castle? Wow!”

“Yeah, there’s this ninja castle in Hasetsu, but it’s actually a tourist attraction. I don’t think there is a single thing inside it that dates before the 1990s.”

“Sounds like a lot of fun though. I’d love to see it.”

Yuuri swallowed.

_Play the part, Yuuri._

“M-maybe you can come visit it, someday.”

Viktor reached across the table to take Yuuri’s hand.

“I’d love to.”

Yuuri didn’t think he could take Viktor’s sweet smile any longer. It made the knot that had suddenly formed in his stomach tighten painfully.

“I… I heard that Japan might not be the safest place for you right now, though.”

“Well, I do have a little thing going on with the Yakuza these days… do you know the story?”

Oh, Yuuri knew it all too well.

“I… heard the basics, yes. They are the ones who managed to frame your father, a year and a half ago.”

“Yeah.” Yuuri could see Viktor’s brow furrowing as he looked down at his right wrist. “It was my fault, you know? All that mess with the Yakuza, it was all my fault.”

Yuuri was sure that the cold that was suddenly chilling his bones was not due to a malfunctioning of the heating system of the Turandot. He downed a glass of champagne to dull the burn in his throat.

“Wh- what do you mean? The rumours… they said it was because H- because a Yakuza was killed by mistake during a shootout in Detroit between your men and another group.”

“The rumours are wrong. Or, well, not exactly _wrong_ , they just don’t know all the details. Only Chris saw it happen, and my father knows because we told him, but we didn’t let the details leak, so the Yakuza never got to know who actually pulled the trigger… but the damage was done anyway. They just targeted our family as a whole, and if I have to tell the truth, I can’t really blame them. They’re doing what needs to be done, in their own eyes. In their place, I would have done the same. I _am_ doing the same with those who imprisoned my father. And all the while, I can’t help but think that this is all my fault, that my father is paying because _I_ made a mistake.”

Yuuri put his glass down before it broke in his tightening grip.

“Viktor, what do you mean? What happened that night?”

Viktor poured himself another glass of wine and downed half of it.

“I invited Katsuki that night at that club. I was in Detroit on my father’s behalf, we wanted to expand our influence in the city, you see. Detroit was mostly under the control of the Neonazi at the time, we had a fairly decent group of Russians there, but they wouldn’t be able to face the Nazis alone if push came to shove, so I went there to back them up. I wanted to strengthen our net of allies before we made a move, and I knew that the Katsukis were setting their eyes on the city as well… They would have made the perfect partners. So I contacted their man there, Hisato Katsuki, asking him for a first informal meeting at a club. The nazis must have heard of it and decided to strike in advance, because they attacked us that night. It was a mess, we weren’t prepared, on an unfavourable ground… To cut a long story short, I was forced to use a gun, because I had run out of throwing knives and had no openings for engaging in hand-to-hand… I am not that good with guns, you know. I am decent with rifles, given some time to adjust my aim, but guns… they just don’t come to me naturally. I don’t really know how it went, it was really dark inside and we were in the middle of the action, but I think that at some point I saw Katsuki sprinting forward and the leader of the Nazis aiming at him, and I tried to cover him, but as I said, guns are just not my thing. I think my bullet reached him before Eric Ayers actually opened fire.”

As he stared at the pakhan wide-eyed, Yuuri prayed all the Gods that Viktor would stop there, that he would not say it out loud.

His prayers, of course, went unanswered.

“So it was my fault in the end. I was the one who shot Hisato Katsuki down.”

_Oh that light, oh, is bright_

_Sleep for today, but tomorrow we fight_

_Tomorrow we fight_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The endline of this story is, Yuuri is just as shit with handling his feeling as Viktor is a lost cause with guns.  
> Oh, and if you wonder about [Prince Desiré's variation](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=XFj-FQ7XZts&t=80s)… The cabrioles are the first jumps, where the dancer beats the calves together in the air, while the coupé jeté's are the last jumps, those done while moving in a circle… no wonder the poor boy had some problems getting them right with a bottle of vodka on his stomach...  
> \---  
> If you're on Tumblr and you'd like to chat, feel free to hmu at [@vik-mombuchika](http://vik-mombuchika.tumblr.com/)  
> And for those who'd like to directly pester the Pakhan himself, [@thepakhaninstpetersburg](https://thepakhaninstpetersburg.tumblr.com/) is the RP and ask blog everything was born from! The infamous Viktor Sergeevich Nikiforov himself will be answering your questions in person, though, so... do it at your own risk!  
> \---  
> Lyrics from:  
> Tommee Profitt / Svrcina - Tomorrow We Fight  
> Ruelle - Live Like Legends  
> Aviicii - Wake Me Up


	7. Muscovite Interlude Pt.2 - Notturno

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Indeed, the idea of holding Viktor's knife to the pakhan's throat excited Yuuri, in more ways than one.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, what can I say. We finally got to it, the final climax (pun totally intended, btw, much to Viktor's delight) of the story so far.  
> This will be indeed a long chapter, and going through with it did THINGS to me. It's been a wild ride, and I hope you all will enjoy it as well.  
> So, wihout further ado, on to the thanks I owe for all your lovely comments and support!  
> @spn-fanatic Tysm darling, I am so happy that the storytelling is managing to get people involved in the story! One of the key points of this AU is to maintain, even behind all the angst, the fundamental purity of Yuuri and Viktor's love, which is the thing I loved most about canon. They complete each other, it's as simple as that.  
> @spidela AAAAHHH glad you liked the bits about Viktor's past! I worked a lot on his background and his family, and... well. I'm glad other people appreciate it  
> @satansdattir @Heroverthere @Olic Glad to see the plot twist got through! It was one of the last elements I added to the story tbh but it has soon become pivotal in the whole narrative.  
> @DMP1013 Well, time to go out, though idk if it'll be more of a bang or something smoother... like a knife? ;)  
> @Phoenix Song You and Viktor both, dear. And Yuuri too, tbh, that would be the ideal date for our lovely mafia boys :P

_Remember when I took you up to the top of the hill?_

_We had our knives drawn, they were as sharp as we were in love._

Yuuri Kastuki hadn’t cried in a long time. He hadn’t cried when his sister Mari had called to tell him that their uncle was dead. He hadn’t cried at Hisato Katsuki’s funeral.

But he cried in a luxurious bathroom in the Nikiforov mansion in Moscow, as the clock ticked into the night in which he was supposed to fulfil the mission that would grant him official entrance into the Yakuza.

He cried, because his plan was unfolding smoothly under his hands, because he had finally found his uncle’s murderer, and it was exactly the man he had been sent to kill. The man he had developed a fairly massive crush for.

_Crushes come and go, Yuuri, they come and go, and Viktor must die, he will die because his last name is Nikiforov, and because it was him who not only involved Hisato Katsuki in the situation that would result in his death, but also pulled the trigger to the bullet that killed him. Viktor Nikiforov will die because he is your uncle’s murderer._

Yuuri almost wished he hadn’t asked Viktor anything about the bratva’s feud with the Yakuza. The night was still young, indeed, and they had plans that went far into it. Plans of which Yuuri felt a constant reminder in the touch of satin on his skin, under the business suit he had started to take off.

The business suit Viktor had chosen for him.

The business suit that had Viktor almost ditch their dinner plans so that they could make it straight to the bedroom.

Perhaps Yuuri should have let him. Perhaps it would have been better if they hadn’t talked at all that night, even if it had been nice exchanging all those stories of their youth, hearing Viktor talk about his father, telling him about his own family. Perhaps it would have been better still, if they hadn’t talked, because now Yuuri wouldn’t have to walk into Viktor’s bedroom, knowing he would have to give his body to him before killing him because _Viktor was his uncle’s murderer_.

_Crushes come and go. Just a few hours, and it will be over._

Yuuri took off his jacket, undid his tie and his shirt’s buttons (How would it feel to have Viktor’s hands doing so instead of his own? How would it feel to have Viktor undress him, uncover his body inch-by-inch, discover tattoos that were yet not inked on Yuuri’s skin but soon would be? Yuuri would never know, because _Viktor will die tonight, he will die because he is my uncle’s murderer_ ), then let the shirt slide to the floor to reveal black satin-and-lace lingerie ( _I hope Viktor likes it, because this is the only lingerie he’ll ever see on me, because he is my uncle’s murderer_ ).

Yuuri looked up at himself in the mirror.

_Crushes come and go._

His pants fell to the floor too as he stepped out of them to wrap himself into a heavy blue robe Viktor had left for him.

_Crushes come and go, and tonight Viktor Nikiforov will go too._

Yuuri Katsuki stepped out of the bathroom, and let the game begin.

\---

December 10th, 2016

Moscow, Russia

Nikiforov Mansion

23:52

 “Do you like it? I put it on just for you.”

“God…” Viktor mouthed from the opposite side of the room, putting down his glass of vodka with shaky hands even though Yuuri had done little more than letting his robe fall to the ground… revealing a set of lingerie Viktor had probably only seen in his wildest dreams.

_How do I even breathe anyway_ , he wondered as he stared at the man in front of him, his mouth suddenly dry no matter how much champagne had been poured into his flute that night.

“You’re… stunning, Yuuri. Come here.”

Yuuri stepped forward, graceful, sensual and almost bashful as he felt Viktor’s desire invest him in full force, washing over him in waves that had him almost stagger at the sheer intensity of it.

Ever since he had set foot in Viktor’s bedroom, it was as if the rules between them had suddenly shifted. Suddenly, Yuuri felt catapulted back to that first night at the Emperor, where Viktor was just _Nikiforov_ , and Yuuri just a man on a mission.

_Perhaps it’s better this way. It’s_ easier _._

Except it wasn’t easy at all, keeping up that act, because there he was, the Russian pakhan, the Living Legend, staring at him as if he was the only beautiful thing in the world, and Yuuri was supposed to bring that man to his knees, to seduce him and make him lose himself until he wasn’t capable of fighting back any longer, and by all the gods above, how did one bring _Viktor Nikiforov_ to his knees?

_You did it once already, at the Emperor._

Yuuri’s hands ran down Viktor’s chest as the pakhan just stood, too stricken to move as Yuuri smiled, innocent and seductive at the same time.

“Do you want me, Viten’ka?” Yuuri murmured, sultry, and for a moment Viktor thought all air had been taken away from him, sucked away in that simple word. Yuuri leaned close, lips a breath away from Viktor’s own in the ghost of a kiss before he stepped back. “You want to fuck me?”

“God, yes.” Viktor managed to breathe as he stepped forward, matching Yuuri’s retreat, drawn in, thirsty, so thirsty, incapable of letting Yuuri move too far away from him because if he did, Viktor might just _die_. He hid his face in the crook of Yuuri’s neck, breathing in his scent, intoxicating, just as the name _Viten’ka_ coming out of those luscious, sinful lips.

“Mmmh… You have _no idea_ the sorts of filthy things I want to do to you, _zolotse_.” he murmured in Yuuri’s ear, holding him close with one hand on the side of his neck, his fingers almost digging into the soft skin, while his free hand traced the lines of the black lingerie that was driving him so crazy.

“Have you been hiding this under your suit all night, my naughty little Yuuri?”

“ _Yes._ ” Yuuri smiled, knowing how his words would go directly to the pakhan’s crotch,

“You _chjortovoj [damn]_ tease.” Viktor indeed groaned against Yuuri’s skin, mixing Russian with English as his mind went back to the hours they spent dining together, picturing Yuuri in the suit they bought, coupling that image with the knowledge that _Yuuri was wearing fucking lingerie under it_. As he moved in to feel Yuuri more (more, more¸ he needed more of this man, _more_ until it became too much and Viktor just drowned in it), the small part of Viktor’s mind that was still _thinking_ thanked God and the Holy Mary that Yuuri had kept him in the dark about this lacey surprise, because, as much as seeing it now was making blood rush to his crotch, he was also glad he hadn’t been too distracted by it in the hours before to focus on their dinner conversation.

Under him, Yuuri was yielding only so little to the kisses Viktor was peppering on the Japanese’s exposed skin.

“Sorry, Viktor.” Yuuri murmured into his ear. “But I think all the filthy things you want to do to me will have to be left until next time.” _There won’t be a next time, there won’t be, because Viktor killed my uncle and so I have to kill him but this is a game and I have to play._ “ _I_ run the show, today.”

Yuuri felt, more than saw, Viktor’s lips curling up into his trademark smile, but he didn’t give him time to replicate. Hand grabbing Viktor’s tie, he pulled him down into a kiss that bordered on the edge of rough, deft fingers already playing with the knot to slide the tie off.

“I want you to strip and get onto the bed for me.”

“As you wish, _zolotse_.”

Viktor only wasted a small time to steal one last brief kiss from Yuuri’s lips before he stepped back, letting his suit jacket fall to the floor unceremoniously.

Then it was the turn of his waistcoat, and Yuuri couldn’t help but notice the sound of metal hitting the floor, even though it was muffled by the cloth.

_His handgun and throwing knives. That’s where he keeps them._

But Viktor was already unbuttoning his shirt, revealing the skin underneath inch by inch, scars and tattoos slowly coming into view, and Yuuri’s attention got stolen by the pakhan again.

Viktor was beautiful. In Lilija Baranovskaja’s dance studio, Yuuri had been too caught up in the act to _really_ take in the view of Viktor Nikiforov’s naked chest, but now he had all the time in the world, and he didn’t waste it. Wind stars on the shoulder blades, a skull at the centre of Viktor’s chest, and a Christian symbol on his right hip, the Mother of Christ with her Infant. And then there were the writings on Viktor’s forearms, and the cross, which Yuuri already had the time to see when Viktor had danced to Nikiya’s variation for him. Yuuri wondered what all those designs meant, wished he had the time to ask Viktor about each of them.

As Viktor turned for a moment to put his butterfly knife down on the nightstand (the right pocket of his trousers, Viktor kept his most trusted knife there, Yuuri mentally noted), he offered Yuuri the show of yet another tattoo, a majestic eagle spreading its wings all across his back, stemming from a single word engraved at the centre of Viktor’s spine. Север, _North_.

Then once again, Viktor was turning to face Yuuri, smirking when he caught him in the act of studying his tattoos. He didn’t call him out on it though, just limited himself to undoing his belt, then the button and zipper of his pants, letting them slide slowly down his toned legs, revealing the last ink on his skin, the wind stars on his knees.

Then, he laid back on the bed and propped himself up on his elbows, fully naked and already hard, eyes searching for Yuuri in challenge and promise. He licked his lips.

“Like what you see, Yuuri? It’s time for your show. Come on.”

Yuuri felt his throat go dry. It was the first time he saw the pakhan’s body completely exposed, and… _well_.

“Y-yeah, I do.”

Viktor wasn’t just beautiful. He was stunning, gorgeous, ravishing, and a lot of other words that weren’t invented yet.

Big, too.

_Well, at least I know it won’t be comfortable._

The thought was strangely comforting, because there was still his mission nagging at the back of Yuuri’s mind, the thought that Viktor would be dead in a few hours, because _he has killed my uncle, and so he must die_.

In a few hours, though. They still had time, before Yuuri would have to do the deed. He had already decided how, with the knife Viktor had just left on the nightstand.

Yuuri stepped forward, sensual, ever so sensual, playing a game he didn’t even know in its full depth.

“Put your hands up.”

Still, the part came almost naturally to him (there must have been something in how Viktor looked at him, really, because the way those blue eyes pierced through him only served to make Yuuri more confident in his stride as he climbed on the bed and swung a leg over Viktor, his ass hovering just above the other’s erection without really touching it).

He showed Viktor the tie he had just stolen from his neck, biting on his lower lip in a coquettish gesture that only added to his act, just as the blush spreading on his cheeks.

“I want to make sure that you’re good for me, that you won’t touch without _permission_.”

_I’m going to die tonight_ , Viktor thought as he watched Yuuri, enthralled. It was a lucid thought, a sudden realization, and it sat well with the pakhan. _This wonderful creature is gonna play me as he wants and I’ll just give him all I’ve got and more, and when he makes me come it will just be too much for me to take it. I’ll just die._

Something was nagging at the back of his mind, Chris’s voice telling him that what he meant figuratively might just as well become the literal truth. It didn’t serve to slow Viktor down, only turned him on more with the thrill.

Viktor’s smile widened as he followed Yuuri’s instructions, raising his hands in an offer for Yuuri to do as he pleased with them. With _him_. He looked up at Yuuri and- _oh, Mother Siberia, help him_ , he could already feel his skin burning where flesh touched Yuuri’s flesh, hot under that pristine white skin, so unlike his own, no tattoos or scars to mar it, only that fucking lingerie that was driving Viktor crazy.

“What do I need to do to be granted permission, then, _zolotse_?” he whispered, lifting his hips slightly, trying to feel flesh against flesh where he needed it most. “You’re being so cruel to me… Can’t you feel how _hard_ I want you?”

Yuuri giggled, and indeed, it was cruel, because as he moved forward to tie Viktor’s hands to the headboard -swift, _professional_ , it was almost as if he had been taught to do this ages ago, and if Viktor cared, it was only because the feeling of the secure knot on his wrists added to his excitement- he also moved away from Viktor’s _very neglected_ erection.

“Oh, I can feel how _hard_ you are.” Yuuri was kissing Viktor’s jaw now, and honestly, Viktor thought he was going to just explode, so much Yuuri’s teasing was going to his head. Or dick. Or both. “If you’re good - _really_ good- for me, I’ll let you touch me, prepare me for you. But you have to stay _still_.”

Another kiss, on Viktor’s lips this time, then the kiss turned into a bite as Yuuri’s hands finally, _finally_ made contact with Viktor’s skin, travelling down Viktor’s chest and stopping just shy of where they were really needed.

“You know what I’m going to do? I’m going to suck you off. And you have to stay _real_ still for me, ok, Viten’ka? If you do, I’ll untie your hands.”

Yuuri’s face followed his hands, and his fingers were finally tracing the underside of Viktor’s length, while his warm breath ghosted over the tip, doing nothing to quench Viktor’s thirst.

Staying still… Yuuri surely must have been kidding. There was _no fucking way_ Viktor could keep still, not with Yuuri toying with him like that… Right? And yet, still Viktor kept, or tried to, as Yuuri’s voice made his whole body shudder in anticipation, drawing a whine from him.

“You want that? You want my mouth?”

“God, yes…” Viktor managed to breathe, still too captivated by Yuuri’s flame to form a coherent thought of his own. The single touch on his length was enough to make him moan. “Your mouth… I want your mouth on me, Yuuri…”

Just saying it made Viktor’s legs twitch under Yuuri, from how bad he needed him. So hard it was painful, forcing himself to keep still as he waited for those lips to finally give him some semblance of relief (or perhaps not, perhaps Yuuri was just going to draw him crazy with his mouth and leave him even more wanting, and Mother of Christ, Viktor couldn’t wait for Yuuri to just do so).

“I’ll be good…”

Finally, Yuuri seemed to take pity on him, because his lips made contact with Viktor’s swollen, leaking tip, sucking on it gently. It took all of Viktor’s will power not to immediately buck his hips, and yet Yuuri surely had felt the involuntary twitch that ran across Viktor’s whole body, because he immediately drew back.

“I said _still_ , Viktor.” he chastised him.

At that point, Viktor was not above begging.

“Yuuri… Yuuri, _pozhalujsta [please]_ …”

A chuckle above his erection threatened to drive him out of his mind.

“Still, Viktor.”

Viktor forced every single fibre of his being to stop its quivering.

Then, Yuuri’s mouth was on him, and Viktor just screamed. Yuuri had said nothing about keeping quiet, after all, hadn't he? So, as Yuuri let Viktor’s dick slip in his mouth, taking good care of him with his tongue, Viktor entrusted his pleasure to his voice.

It was almost impossible to keep still, but somehow he must have managed to do a decent job at it, because Yuuri didn’t pull back again, dedicating all his attention to Viktor’s length, licking it up and down before taking it into his mouth as deep as he could and sucking on it eagerly, only to resort to licking again when Viktor’s vocalizations told him that the pakhan might be getting a little too close to a climax. Indeed, at the third time Yuuri edged him like that, Viktor had forgotten how to say his own name, not to mention how to properly beg for release.

It was fun, Yuuri had to admit. Empowering, having the Living Legend scream incoherencies to the wind only because of Yuuri’s mouth on him. He wished he could drag this game for a little longer, but all good games must come to an end, and his instincts told him that this particular one was reaching its own.

At the umpteenth _pozhalujsta_ coming from Viktor’s lips, Yuuri finally let the pakhan’s length slip out of his mouth and looked up at him. Chest and face completely flushed, wrists red from where he had tugged on the tie, eyes glazed in lust, Viktor looked utterly destroyed, and Yuuri felt blood rush to his loins. It was indeed a sight to behold, the pakhan in St. Petersburg tied to a bed in his Moscow bedroom, panting and murmuring incoherent pleas in an absurd mix of Russian and English and possibly some French too, completely at Yuuri’s mercy.

“Yuuri… _Bozhe moj [My God]_ … please…”

Yuuri hovered above him, drinking in the sight of every single drop of sweat glistening the pakhan’s body.

“Have you been good, Viten’ka?”

Viktor dry-swallowed.

“I- I tried.”

“Mh.”

“Yuuri…”

“I guess I can reward the effort, at least.”

Viktor let out a breath he didn’t know he had been holding as Yuuri finally undid the tie, freeing his hands. He didn’t make an effort to stand up, he was still too shaken to move, so he just brought his hands down and stared at Yuuri, who was now sitting on his thighs.

“Can I touch you now?”

Yuuri only nodded, shuddering when he finally felt the warm touch of Viktor’s hands on his legs.

“You want to kill me, Yuuri.”

Now it was Yuuri’s turn to swallow.

“Get the lube.”

_You killed my uncle, and so you must die._

Viktor sat up and fumbled with a drawer of the nightstand, taking out a small bottle.

“Will you let me, _zolotse_?”

Yuuri swallowed again.

_It’s going to hurt. It’s going to hurt and it’s good, because crushes come and go and Viktor must die, because Viktor murdered my uncle._

“I said I’d let you prepare me, if you were good.” he repeated to ground himself.

Viktor had already uncorked the bottle and was positioning himself to sit with his back against the headboard.

“I’m glad I managed to keep still, then. Come here.”

He patted on his thigh, and Yuuri diligently climbed in Viktor’s lap, letting him unclasp part of the lingerie to pull down his briefs.

“You’re so beautiful, Yuuri.”

Viktor smiled gently as he coated one finger in lube.

“Lift your ass up, put your hands on the headboard.” Viktor directed him, and Yuuri did it, bracing himself from the pain that was to come next.

_Just a few hours. In a few hours, it all will be over._

When the first digit prodded his entrance, Yuuri closed his eyes and clutched the headboard.

“Relax, Yuuri.” Viktor kissed Yuuri’s neck soothingly. “It’s just me.”

_That’s the problem. That you’re_ you _, that I wish we could take this slow so that you’ll take care of me, but instead I hope you would just hurry the fuck up and hurt me and take your pleasure and then go to sleep so that I can kill you because you’re Viktor Nikiforov and you murdered my uncle, and…_

“Yuuri.”

Yuuri’s eyes shot open, and he realized Viktor’s hand had pulled away from his ass.

“Yuuri, what’s wrong?”

_I fucked up. I fucked up, I fucked up, I fucked up, I-_

“I’m a virgin.”

Yuuri said it before he could stop his mouth.

_I fucked up._

“I suspected.” Viktor, under him, sighed, placing his hands on Yuuri’s hips to silently guide him to sit back in his lap. “You should have told me.”

Yuuri swallowed. He really wanted to cry. Perhaps he _was_ crying, because Viktor was kissing his eyes now, then his cheeks, caressing his back soothingly.

“It’s alright, Yuuri. We can stop now, if you want.”

“No!” Yuuri almost screamed. “No, Viktor, please, I… I want… please I want to-”

_I want to do this, I want this to be over, I want you to fuck me, make love to me, whatever you want, I just want this to be done, I just want you to fall asleep so that I can finally kill you because you murdered my uncle and it must be tonight because I don’t think I can stand another day of you being Viktor, because Viktor is beautiful, and a dork, and fascinating, and adorable, and I lo-_

“Do you want me, Yuuri?”

“Yes.”

It wasn’t a lie, Yuuri knew as Viktor kissed him, loving, and soothing, and just- Viktor.

And when Viktor laid him down on the bed, lavishing kisses all over his body, running his hands in gentle caresses made to reassure him, Yuuri just abandoned himself to his care.

Indeed, the act of preparing didn’t take as long as Viktor had expected -Yuuri _had_ been working himself loose in the bathroom at least a little, because when Viktor had Yuuri lay on his back, lifting his legs to offer his entrance to Viktor’s mouth, Viktor found out that the ring of muscles was indeed a lot looser than it was supposed to be.

Still, he lavished all attention on it, licking and prodding with his tongue until he felt Yuuri finally relax, drawing whimpers and moans that told Viktor he could dare a little more.

The first finger slid in relatively easily, and immediately Viktor was covering Yuuri’s whole body in kisses, on his thighs, on his neck, on his chest, on all spots that Viktor slowly learned were most sensitive on Yuuri’s body.

The second finger required more effort, and Viktor didn’t relent, inviting Yuuri to hold onto his hair as he wrapped his lips around Yuuri’s dick, sucking him off to distract him from the discomfort in his back. By the time the second digit was in to the knuckles, Yuuri was moaning again, tugging on Viktor’s hair as he had done in the stalls of the Emperor, and yet Viktor gave him all the time he needed to adjust, and then some more, scissoring him attentively before he dared a third finger.

This was the trickiest part, but by that time, Yuuri had once again turned putty in his hands, responsive as he had ever been to the pakhan’s every little touch. With some patient work on Viktor’s part, he was soon reduced again to a panting mess under Viktor’s deft hands and mouth, responding eagerly as Viktor fucked him on his three fingers, aiming for the spot that would make Yuuri cry out in pleasure.

_It’s good, it’s so good, it hurts but it also feels great, and I want it, I want more, I want_ him _._

“Always so impatient.”

Yuuri heard Viktor chuckle in his ear, and once again he had to come to terms with his mouth’s stupid habit of speaking without his permission.

“Think you’re ready for me, _zolotse_?”

Yuuri stared into Viktor’s eyes, and he realized they mirrored the desire in his own.

“Yes. Vitja, please. I want you.”

“Anything for you, Yuuri.”

Viktor moved them so that they were sitting again, the pakhan with his back against the headboard and Yuuri in his lap.

“We’re going at your pace.”

Yuuri just nodded.

“Kiss me.”

Yuuri did it, and when he felt Viktor’s length, wrapped in a condom and slick with lube, stretch his entrance, he kissed him more to make the pain go away.

A few inches in later, and Viktor had guided Yuuri’s mouth to his neck, inviting him to bite there if he felt the need to. Yuuri accepted the invitation eagerly, and suddenly, Viktor was moaning under him at every bite, fingers digging into Yuuri’s thigh to steady him -and probably himself- as Yuuri slowly let him sink into him until he was buried to the hilt.

“Yuuri… fuck… Yuuri…”

It was quite obvious the pakhan was on the verge of losing control, and yet he still found the concentration to caress Yuuri’s back soothingly, as he waited for him to adjust.

“Your pace, Yuuri.” he repeated, when Yuuri made to move and a groan coming from his lips warned them that he had been, once again, too eager.

This time, it was Yuuri who asked it.

“Kiss me, Viktor.”

And Viktor did it. Once, twice, and then once more as Yuuri started to move above him, whimpering first, then moaning against Viktor’s lips, and God, it felt good, no, not _good_ , ‘good’ was when he was having a decent rut in the sheets with one of the boys he met at the Emperor, ‘good’ was when Chris fucked his worries away, but this was not just ‘good’, this was Yuuri, and it was _perfect_.

Yuuri, who was holding onto him as if Viktor was his last lifeline in this world, who was wrapping his arms around Viktor’s neck and impaling himself on his cock with an eagerness that bordered on desperation, who was devouring Viktor’s mouth as if he was trying to sate a lifetime’s hunger.

Yuuri, who bit hard on Viktor’s shoulder and moaned Viktor’s name to his skin as he came all over their chests, clenching on Viktor’s length and drawing him to his orgasm as well.

Yuuri, who fell limp into Viktor’s arms, panting and sweating and a mess, and let Viktor gently put him down on the bed once the pakhan had managed to gather enough wits to move them both from the position they had finished in.

Yuuri, whom Viktor knew in that moment he loved more than anything else in the world.

_Kiss while your lips are still red_

_While he's still silent_

_Rest while bosom is still untouched, unveiled_

_Hold another hand while the hand's still without a tool_

_Drown into eyes while they're still blind_

\---

“How are you feeling?”

“Good.”

“Does it hurt?”

“A little.”

“I’m sorry, _zolotse_.”

“It’s _good_ hurt.”

Yuuri smiled as he pointed a lazy finger on the bite marks on Viktor’s neck. He hadn’t realized he had drawn blood from at least three of them.

“I’m glad, then.”

Viktor stole Yuuri’s hand and brought it to his mouth to kiss Yuuri’s finger.

“Did I already tell you that you’re beautiful, Yuuri?”

“Once or twice.” Yuuri chuckled.

“I should tell you more, then.”

Viktor kissed Yuuri’s giggle away.

“You’re beautiful too, Viktor.” Yuuri said, as the pakhan hovered above him, and ran his fingers through his silver bangs to uncover his left eye.

Viktor kissed him again, and halfway through it, Yuuri’s hands sneaked up the pakhan’s back as Viktor slipped between Yuuri’s legs.

“Yuuri…”

A whimper from Yuuri’s lips attracted Viktor’s attention to what was going on between the Japanese’s legs.

“Already?”

Yuuri blushed.

“I’ve always been told I have good stamina.”

Viktor brought them off together with his hand, and when they were both spent, he collapsed on top of Yuuri, letting him pepper kisses on his forehead.

\---

“Ouch! Viktor!”

“Sorry! Is it too cold?”

“It can’t even be called warm!”

“If my father were here, he would say, ‘Still warmer than the Lena’. It’s a Siberian river. The Lena.”

“If your father were physically here, Viktor, the two of us wouldn’t probably be naked in the shower together.”

“Uh? Why not?”

Yuuri didn’t know whether to groan or chuckle.

Viktor took him out of the impasse by kissing him and initiating a makeout session that ended with the pakhan sucking Yuuri off in the shower, and Yuuri thought it was just like the Emperor, but better, because now he had that ghosting pain in his back to remind him of how good it had felt to have Viktor inside him.

\---

When they came back to the bed, Viktor was still unmistakably hard, and Yuuri’s Eros switch had been turned on by the sight of the pakhan’s face covered in his cum.

It didn’t take long for Yuuri to spot the box of sex toys Viktor kept under the bed, and it took him even less to have Viktor splayed on the mattress again, hands and ankles cuffed to the four corners of the bed, clamps attached to his nipples as Yuuri pulled on the little chain connecting them.

“You’re beautiful.” he said as he traced a line from Viktor’s chest down to his navel with the whip he had found between a lot of other things he couldn’t wait to put to good use.

“You’re beautiful too, Yuuri.” Viktor exhaled, before the whip came cracking on his ass, stealing a yelp from him.

“Silence, Viten’ka. I’m thinking.”

“Wh- what about?”

“About what I should use on you next.”

Viktor swallowed.

“Whatever you want, _zolotse_. I’m yours.”

“Oh, I know.”

Yuuri smirked, getting off the bed as he watched Viktor whimper under his gaze, tied up and powerless, and beautiful. He licked his lips, feeling Viktor’s eyes never leaving him as he moved down to take off the clamps and suck on Viktor’s nipple, to which the pakhan immediately responded by turning up the volume of his little moans.

“You’re so sensitive, Viten’ka.”

“C- call me like that again and I’ll come right here and now.”

Judging from the state of Viktor’s leaking cock, the chance was indeed quite real.

“Mmmh, but we don’t want that, do we, Viktor? There’s still a lot of things I want to do to you before I let you come inside me again…” Yuuri’s smirk widened as he saw Viktor’s involuntary twitch. “ _If_ you’re good, of course. And to make sure you _behave_ …”

Yuuri could feel the desperation in Viktor’s whine as he took out a cock ring from Viktor’s box and showed it to the pakhan.

“Yuuri, _please_ …”

Viktor’s prayers only earned a chuckle from Yuuri as he slid the ring on him and secured it at the base of his cock.

“There you go. Now-” Yuuri let the whip trace a caress up Viktor’s inner thigh, stopping at his ass. “I just realized I neglected something important here, don’t you think?”

“Y-yuuri…?”

Yuuri took out a vibrator.

“ _Bozhe moj [My God]._ ”

Viktor’s exhale was that of a man who was resigning himself to a long, sweet torture.

The vibrator slid in with only a slight initial resistance, and if this did surprise Yuuri, he made no comment on that beside biting on his lower lip at the sight as Viktor groaned and threw his head back.

“Fuck… Yuuri…”

“I’m barely getting started, Viktor.”

Yuuri turned the vibrator on.

Indeed, he felt a brief moment of sympathy for the poor men that had been positioned on guard duty outside the pakhan’s bedroom that night, but it was soon stolen away by the sight of Viktor thrashing under him, moaning his name to the roof as he tugged desperately on his restraints.

Yuuri made sure the vibrator was safely stuck in place and hitting Viktor in exactly the right spot before taking its remote control and stepping back from the bed, admiring the show as he maxed up the vibrations.

“You’re so beautiful, splayed out like this.”

The pakhan just moaned incoherently.

Yuuri moved to the head of the bed, where Viktor was partly propped up on a pile of cushions, kneeling in front of him and offering him his own neglected length.

“Here, Viten’ka.”

Viktor didn’t need any further explanation, and just accepted Yuuri’s dick in his mouth, sucking on it sloppily as the vibrator stole moan after moan from his lips while Yuuri raked his fingers through his hair.

Then, suddenly, Yuuri’s length was gone, and Viktor felt something cold -something _sharp_ \- graze the base of his jaw, just below his ear. Yuuri moved to straddle him, a storm agitating his chocolate brown eyes, as he held Viktor’s butterfly knife to his throat, turning the vibrator off.

“Look at me, Viktor.”

Vitkor’s eyes made contact with Yuuri’s, and found his lust reflected in them as the Japanese licked his lips.

“Is this how you killed Konovalov? With this knife?”

“Yes.” Viktor smiled, panting, his length throbbing painfully as Yuuri let the knife slide on the skin of his neck, close just enough to let Viktor feel its steely caress on his pulse without drawing blood.

“Tell me about it.”

“I went to his home that night like I usually did. I always left the knife on the nightstand, where he could see it. He played with me for a while…”

“I want to know how.”

“He tied my hands and feet together before fucking me with a dildo, then he made me suck him off, and when he was about to come he turned me over so that he could spill in my ass.”

The knife moved down Viktor’s chest to point at his heart.

“Did you like it?”

“Yes.”

“Did you always?”

“Mostly. But that night was better, because I knew I was gonna kill him.”

Yuuri chuckled.

The knife grazed Viktor’s nipple, tearing a moan from his lips.

“What happened next?”

“I asked him if he would let me ride his cock, and he said yes, because I had been particularly good that night. So I did, and after he came I let him have his cigarette and fall asleep while he went soft inside me. Then I took the knife and slit his throat off.”

“Such a vicious boy, Viten’ka.”

Yuuri turned the vibrator on again and when Viktor arched his back, the knife opened a small, shallow cut on his chest before Yuuri moved it back up to Viktor’s throat. Viktor’s moans only turned up in volume.

“Are you going to slit my throat off too, Yuuri?”

Yuuri pressed the knife to Viktor’s pulse.

“Perhaps.”

Viktor bucked his hips.

“How desperate are you, Viktor?”

“Quite. I never wanted anyone as much as I need you, Yuuri.”

“Kiss me, then.”

Viktor moved forward without hesitation, and the blade at his neck still didn’t draw a single drop of blood.

They kissed like that, Viktor barely able to move and Yuuri wrapping an arm around the pakhan’s neck, while his other hand still held the knife between them. They were both breathless when Yuuri finally pulled back, putting the knife down on the nightstand and fishing through Viktor’s drawer to get a condom.

“Have you been good, Viten’ka?”

“I… think so.”

Yuuri turned the vibrator up a notch, letting Viktor scream his pleasure and frustration to the roof.

“Wrong answer.”

Viktor once again forgot how to beg, only managing to moan Yuuri’s name repeatedly as the Japanese hovered above him and licked the shallow cut Viktor’s knife had left on his chest.

“I’ll ask you again, Viktor. Have you been good?”

“I- I don’t… I don’t know.. You tell me… Yuuri…”

Yuuri turned the vibrator off.

“Mmmh. You haven’t been too bad, after all.”

“Yuuri, _please_.”

“I’m not going to untie you, but I’ll take the ring off and ride your cock. Would you like that, Viten’ka? Would you like to spill yourself inside me?”

“ _Please._ ”

Yuuri kissed him, and kept his promise.

When the cock ring came off, it took all of Viktor’s willpower not to come then and there, but he was glad he had maintained that much control over himself, for Yuuri rewarded him with another kiss as he slipped a condom on him before straddling him again and guiding his aching length to his own already loosened entrance.

Being inside Yuuri felt great, and Viktor made sure the Japanese was aware of the fact as he slowly let Viktor sink in until he was buried to the hilt. It felt even better when Yuuri started moving on him with a long moan, first setting a slow rhythm, then quickening the pace as Viktor desperately tried to keep up.

He didn’t last long anyway, the feeling of Yuuri riding his dick coupled with that of the vibrator that was still stuck in his ass soon sent him tumbling over the edge as Yuuri bit his lower lip to stifle loud moans, hand wrapped around his length to pump himself.

Viktor felt emptied, wonderfully so. The last orgasm had come to him like water upon the thirsty, and he was pretty sure he had given all he had to it. Yet, Yuuri was still moaning above him, desperately trying to reach his own climax with the help of his own hand.

“L-let me do it… Yuuri…” Viktor managed to articulate as he still rode the high of his orgasm.

Somehow, Yuuri registered Viktor’s words between his frenzied thrusts, and he stopped to unclasp one of the handcuffs, while Viktor didn’t even bother to shake his reddened wrist. His hand immediately went for Yuuri’s length, complying with the rhythm Yuuri’s hips were setting for him.

There was no way Yuuri could bother stifling his moans at this point. The feeling of Viktor going soft inside him created a sharp contrast with that of the pakhan's hand pumping his length, and not even the thought that this was the last time Viktor would bring him to orgasm served to slow Yuuri down. As soon as Viktor’s hand was on him, he came in but a few desperate thrusts, moaning Viktor’s name to the sky before collapsing on him.

He stayed there for a while, head resting against Viktor’s chest, letting the Russian’s heartbeat lull him into a half-sleep in his post-orgasm bliss. At some point, Viktor’s free hand had lazily moved up to wrap itself around Yuuri’s midsection, holding him against him, and Yuuri thought that if paradise were a feeling, it would be being held like this.

“Yuuri… Stay close to me.”

Viktor’s heart beat against his ribcage, echoing in Yuuri’s ear.

_Oh, Kami, please, still the time. Let me stay like this forever. Or if you can’t, just give me a little more, only a little, before I have to end it all._

Yet, time was running out, and for much more mundane reasons.

Viktor’s hand had started moving up and down Yuuri’s spine, and that single caress reminded him of how the pakhan’s remaining limbs were still securely tied to the bed.

With a sigh, Yuuri sat up, earning a whine of protest from Viktor.

“Viktor, I have to untie you.”

The pakhan smiled fondly.

“I didn’t really mind.”

Yuuri’s only reply was a deep blush as he undid the handcuffs that were still fastened on Viktor’s ankles and left arm, and pulled the vibrator out of him, earning a groan from the pakhan.

“Yuuri, come back here.” Viktor tiredly protested as Yuuri got up from the bed and discarded the toys on the floor next to their box.

“Viktor, I’m all sticky and you’re a terrible mess. We have to shower.”

“Too tired…”

Indeed, a look at the pakhan who was curling up on himself told Yuuri that the night’s activities had taken quite a toll on Viktor.

Yuuri leaned in to kiss him on the lips.

“I’ll take care of you. Wait here.”

“Be quick.”

When Yuuri came back from the bathroom with a wet towel in his hands, Viktor hadn’t moved a single inch from the position Yuuri had left him in.

_There he is, right where you wanted him. Exhausted, drunk, and with his guard down._

Yuuri stepped closer to the bed, his gaze falling for a moment on the butterfly knife on the nightstand before being captured back by Viktor’s tired smile.

_Oh, Kami, just… just a little more time, while his heart still beats._

Yuuri sat on the bed next to Viktor and began wiping him clean with slow, attentive strokes of the towel, while Viktor’s hand rested on his thigh, his thumb tracing lazy circles on Yuuri’s soft skin.

When every inch of Viktor’s body was clean, it was him who took the towel from Yuuri’s hands and let it fall to the floor as he lazily slipped under the covers and kept them lifted in an invitation.

“Yuuri, come here with me?”

Yuuri complied.

_Just a little more time, while his body is still warm._

Viktor wrapped them both in the sheets, then hid his face in Yuuri’s chest.

“Hold me.”

Yuuri did.

_Just a little more._

_Love while the night still hides the withering dawn._

\---

December 11th, 2016

Moscow, Russia

Nikiforov Mansion

03:58

Yuuri stared at the ceiling of the pakhan’s bedroom in the Nikiforov Mansion in Moscow, listening to the soft breathing in his ear. Viktor slept peacefully next to him, and the relaxed expression on his face almost made him look like a boy.

_A boy who leads one of the strongest organizations in the underworld of organized crime_ , Yuuri reminded himself as he forced himself not to let his eyes fall on the slight pout - _cute, so cute_ \- on Viktor’s mouth. _Your uncle’s murderer, by his own admission._

Yuuri kept staring at the ceiling.

They hadn’t bothered making sure the curtains were drawn, and now the lights of Moscow seeped through the windows, dancing on the walls, on the floor, on the bed and their naked skin, to reveal the traces of the night’s events on Viktor’s body.

_“Here, bite here.”_

_“Do you want me, Yuuri?”_

_“Can I touch you, now?”_

_“Let me do it, Yuuri.”_

_“Did I already tell you that you’re beautiful?”_

_“You want to kill me, Yuuri.”_

_Yes, Viktor_ , Yuuri wanted to say. _You killed my uncle and so you must die._

Yuuri swallowed, and brought his eyes back to the ceiling, refusing to move, because if he did, he would end up watching Viktor sleep again, and behind him, he would see the alarm clock’s light change with the passing of time, its glow reflecting on the blade of Viktor’s butterfly knife.

_Please, Kami, just a little more time._

Beside him, Viktor shifted a little in his sleep, and held Yuuri tighter.

He hadn’t let Yuuri go ever since falling asleep as soon as Yuuri had wrapped his arms around him, murmuring something Yuuri still distinctly refused to acknowledge as a _Ja ljublju tebja_. He definitely didn’t need to hear Viktor confessing his love for him as the last thing he would ever say.

_You killed my uncle, Viktor. You must die._

Viktor’s breath was warm on Yuuri’s neck, just as his skin against Yuuri’s own.

_Not for long._

Soon, Viktor would be dead, his body growing quickly cold in the Russian winter, wrapped in the same sheets that stood witness to their-

_Sex. It was just sex, as good as it can be, but sex nonetheless._

Yuuri’s back still hurt – _“It’s_ good _hurt.”_ , he had said, and it hadn’t been a lie, but none of it mattered in the end, because crushes came and went, and this was but a bad crush which was to go once Yuuri finally fulfilled his mission, earning his official entrance in the Yakuza ranks.

_Crushes come and go, and Viktor Nikiforov will become just a tattoo, a memory written in ink under your skin, one of many, worth of notice only because it was the first. You won’t even remember the sound of his voice, the ring of his laughter, the feel of his hand in yours, of his lips against your mouth. It all will be gone, and you’re going to be fine._

Yet for now, the ghosts of Viktor’s kisses still lingered on Yuuri’s lips, and his skin burned at the memory of his touch.

Yuuri’s body screamed for more.

Part of him wanted to hold it against Viktor, for not being able to keep up with him for yet another round, because this was not enough, just… _not_ _enough_.

Yuuri needed more, wanted more.

_You have run out of time, Yuuri._

The lights from the alarm clock flickered as they hit 4:00, and Yuuri’s eyes finally fell on the knife.

_“All that mess with the Yakuza, it was my fault.”_

The mission.

_It has to be tonight._

He had to do it, before the caress of Viktor’s hair on his jaw, his breath on his neck, his skin against his skin made him think how great it would be if he could fall asleep like this yet another night, and then another one, and another, and another, and-

_Crushes come and go._

Yuuri tried to slip through Viktor’s arms, earning a whine in protest.

_“Stay close to me.”_

_You killed my uncle, Viktor, so now I have to kill you. It all comes down to it, after all._

Yuuri kissed the top of Viktor’s forehead.

“I’ll be back before you know it, Vitja.”

The name burned in Yuuri’s throat as Viktor’s grip relaxed. Trusting, so trusting, exactly like Yuuri had planned him to be.

Yuuri stood up next to the bed, watching Viktor Nikiforov sleep, naked under Yuuri’s scrutiny. Vulnerable.

_Where is the Living Legend, now?_

Where was the boy who singlehandedly conquered a city in the turn of a decade? Where was the man who, not yet in his thirties, led the greatest Russian syndicate?

Just a castle of glass around a boy of barely 27, who had fallen asleep in his bed after a night of sexual excesses, a kid who, for all his expertise with blades of all kinds, couldn’t even hold a gun straight in a firefight.

_“I think my bullet reached him before Eric Ayers actually opened fire.”_

It was all Viktor’s fault, after all.

Yuuri took the knife.

The weight in his hand reminded him of the sheepish smile on Viktor’s face as he told him about his last night with Artjom Konovalov, of the beautiful blush on his chest as Yuuri pointed the blade at Viktor’s heart.

_Crushes come and go._

Yuuri forcefully removed the memory from the front of his mind. He had to focus, the time for fun and games far past behind him.

Viktor moved in his sleep, laying down on his back and exposing his throat.

Vulnerable, so vulnerable, almost as if he was offering himself to Yuuri’s -to his own- blade.

Yuuri swallowed.

Foolish, foolish Viktor. Falling in love with a boy just because he told you he was a figure skater, opening your heart and your house to him because you both loved dogs, revealing him secrets that would have been better kept buried deep because when you talked the world seemed a better place, a simpler game. Promising him the world with words and touches as you held him in your arms because when you danced together nothing else seemed to matter.

Stupid Viktor, making promises you would never be able to keep, because _you were the one who shot Hisato Katsuki down_.

Yuuri climbed on Viktor slowly, straddled him, held the knife to his throat. Viktor didn’t move, just sighed contentedly in his sleep.

Vulnerable.

Yuuri pressed the blade against Viktor’s pulse.

_Viktor Nikiforov killed my uncle, and thus he will die._

A car passed in the street, and its light seeped through the windows, dancing on the blade of the knife. On Viktor’s silver hair.

_Soft, Viktor’s hair is so soft._

It was as simple as that, losing a battle with one’s own mind.

Memories of the last month Yuuri had desperately tried to keep in check -because crushes came and went, sure, but until they _did_ go, they were such a hindrance when you had a mission to complete- suddenly hit him in waves. Memories that had Viktor’s voice, his smile, the shining light of his blue eyes, his smell of seabreeze and steel.

_“I hope you don’t mind me.”_

The feeling of Viktor’s hand on his body, as they danced to the music of the Emperor.

_“Anything for you,_ zolotse _.”_

The look of adoration in Viktor’s eyes as he complied with Yuuri’s wishes.

_“You don’t seem to have classes, on early Saturday mornings.”_

The way Viktor smiled at him as they strolled through a park.

_He killed my uncle. Viktor killed my uncle._

Memories waging a war inside him with his sister’s voice, the one telling him to go and take the last Nikiforov down, to fulfil their family’s revenge.

Yuuri clutched the knife tighter, as Viktor’s voice, his laughter, his touches still echoed in his mind, in his body.

_"You must forgive my Makkachin. She is an old lady, but she still has the spirit of a puppy.”_

_“Well, it wasn’t easy convincing my father to let me start ballet classes, especially not after asking him in front of President Petrov…”_

_“I got lost five times when I took the underground for the first time, and Russian is my native language, which I can read ever since I was, like, four?”_

All the things Viktor had told him.

_“_ Otlichno _! Yuuri, that was so beautiful!”_

_“I kind of like this part I’m playing, even though it gets quite tiring, from time to time.”_

_“You should teach me some Japanese, Yuuri! At least some basics, like, ‘You’re the most beautiful man in the world’.”_

All the things Viktor had wanted to know about him.

_“Katsudon? Sounds nice, what is it?”_

_“‘Stay close to me’. It’s an aria about love and longing.”_

_“God, but did you see Yuzuru’s jump? He’s, I don’t know, weightless.”_

_“It’s a shame I had to ditch it after Makka turned it into one of her favourite chewing toys, it was one great dildo.”_

All the things they had in common, and the antics they did not.

_“Will you dance with me, Yuuri?”_

The way it all came together, somehow, wrapped up in one of Viktor’s smiles.

_Viktor Nikiforov killed my uncle._

Yuuri shifted his weight slightly and inclined the blade so that it formed a perfect angle with Viktor’s neck.

_“Then you shall have it. I’ll give it all to you,_ zolotse _, anything you want.”_

The pride in Viktor’s voice as he looked through Yuuri’s model student facade.

_Crushes come and go._

The knife was heavy in Yuuri’s hand, and Viktor so vulnerable, asleep under him.

_“In summer it’s even better. I should take you back here in June, or July, when we can dine outside.”_

All the things they planned to do, and never would.

_Crushes come and go._

Yuuri slightly increased the pressure of the blade. A red line appeared on porcelain white skin as metal cut through flesh.

_Crushes come and go._

Just a little more, and Viktor Nikiforov would be gone, too.

Yuuri willed his had still against Viktor’s pulse. More blood spilled from the wound, painfully dark against Viktor’s white skin.

Viktor sighed, and Yuuri was certain he had heard his name.

_“Yuuri, please…”_

The way Viktor had moaned his name.

_“Yuuri… Stay close to me.”_

The way Viktor had pleaded him to stay.

_“Hold me.”_

The way Viktor had _needed_ him to stay.

Vulnerable. So vulnerable.

_Just a little more._

Blood trickled down, staining the sheets.

_Crushes come and go, Yuuri._

Viktor, in his sleep, was smiling.

_Not this one, no. This crush won’t go._

Yuuri Katsuki pulled the blade away from Viktor Nikiforov’s neck, and ran into the rising dawn.

_Run for the heavens_

_Sing to the stars_

_Love like a lover_

_Shine in the dark_

_Shout like an army_

_Sound the alarm_

_I am a burning, burning, burning_

_Heart_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> \---  
> If you're on Tumblr and you'd like to chat, feel free to hmu at [@vik-mombuchika](http://vik-mombuchika.tumblr.com/)  
> And for those who'd like to directly pester the Pakhan himself, [@thepakhaninstpetersburg](https://thepakhaninstpetersburg.tumblr.com/) is the RP and ask blog everything was born from! The infamous Viktor Sergeevich Nikiforov himself will be answering your questions in person, though, so... do it at your own risk!  
> \---  
> Lyrics from:  
> Marylin Manson - Running to the Edge fo the World  
> Nightwish - Kiss While Your Lips Are Still Red  
> Svrcina - Burning Heart


	8. Epilogue - Stay Close To Me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The die is cast, the game is on.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What can I say... we got to the end of this story. I am so grateful to all those who went through it with me, sharing this world with other people has been incredibly important for me.  
> As always, on with replying to the comments, which indeed came in great number (thank you all omggg) and made me swell in happiness:  
> @satansdattir @Ahumanlady ...Are you guys ok? ;P  
> @DMP1013 @Heroverthere @namisnakama Looks like the angst hit... Sadly, not everything is gonna come easy for our boys, and I feel kinda bad for how happy they were after they did it for the first time :( But don't worry, they are quite the resourceful boys, our Victuuri! As @EmmyLynna perfectly put it, Victuuri is just that strong!  
> @spn_fanatic @Nanacchan @The_Shadow_King Ahhhh thank you guys so much! I was indeed a bit unsure whether the effect I was trying to create here, with both my writing and the lyrics, would work out! Indeed this was a long chapter, but it was crucial in defining their relationship... and in explaining what brought Yuuri to act like he did in the end.  
> @Wateryli Welcome to my personal Mafia hell, darling! I hope the impact of reading it all in one go was good, I had a friend beta-read this but she also did with lapses in-between chapters, so I don't know what the overall impression might be, but judging from your comment, I guess I can hope it worked out fine! :D  
> @spidela Glad I managed to surprise you! It was crucial in the story that the choice had to be completely Yuuri's own to make... you'll also see why and how in this chapter.

January 6th, 2017

Tokyo, Japan

Fushin-an Teahouse

23:50

"Oh, have you heard the latest news, Mari-sama? Apparently, people are trying to kill me in my sleep. But you know, I'm not averse to mixing business with pleasure. Perhaps we should discuss this over a date."

Viktor was sporting his brightest smile as he faced the kumicho and her delegation. It wasn’t hard, really, not when he was finally seeing Yuuri Katsuki in person again.

_Yuuri Katsuki._

Viktor had rolled that name on his tongue one too many times in the weeks that had passed since he had last seen him. Yuuri _Katsuki_. It had a nice ring to it, a nice taste on his tongue, a lot more so than _Yuuri Fukuhara_ did.

Yuuri Katsuki.

His enemy, his attempted murderer, his _love_. Oh, it tasted so good on his mouth Viktor couldn’t wait to taste _the real thing_ again, and now the real thing was here, sitting in front of him, facing him from the opposite side of a negotiating table for the first time, taking part to the meeting Viktor himself had requested, on Viktor’s explicit demand, clad in an elegant yet sombre yukata that had nothing to envy to his sister’s kimono.

He was perfect.

“Business and pleasure rarely go well together.” came the kumicho’s curt reply, unyielding, finalizing, like a blade to one’s throat.

Oh, did Viktor love the feeling.

“I am sorry, Mari-sama, but I beg to differ.” he smiled, suave, his eyes never leaving Yuuri, even as he addressed his sister. Yuuri avoided his gaze, his own eyes settling just a little lower, on Viktor’s mouth, on the scar on his neck, ruining -or perhaps not- his perfect appearance.

“I mean, they have been mixing pretty well for me lately.”

Behind Nikiforov, Chris Giacometti and Yakov Feltsman exchanged a glance. Oh, they both knew this tone, they knew it all too well. Either their young pakhan was thoroughly amused, or flirting, or ready to kill. Usually, it was a combination of the two. Sometimes, it was all three at the same time.

Viktor let his eyes roam over Yuuri’s body once again, licking his lips, and in the corner of his eye he could see the tension in the way Mari Katsuki’s fists were clenched.

“You know, Mari-sama,” Viktor was smiling, and his eyes, in sharp contrast with his words, refused to leave Yuuri’s figure, a clear testament to the real addressee of his words. “I’ve been in Tokyo a couple of times in the past, but I was never able to find a truly knowledgeable guide, one that is… _up to my standards_ , so to speak. Do you think I can hope to get lucky, this time around?”

Yakov resisted the urge to scoff. Only his young once-charge would be able to pull off such a scandalous request with such smoothness; asking a Yakuza family to be let in on their business so directly was outrageous in itself, but doing it while asking the very kumicho’s brother out on a date, and in front of the kumicho herself? Unspoken of. Perhaps unthinkable.

_But that’s the new Nikiforov pakhan for you_ , Chris thought amusedly as he watched Mari Katsuki seethe, struggling to control herself. In passing the command to him, Sergeij Nikiforov had told his son that the world was his to do with it as he pleased, and Viktor Sergeevich was bent on doing just that. _That, kumicho, is the kind of man you roused,_ Chris mused, _and now you’ve gotta dance with him._

“I’m afraid I can’t help you, Mr. Nikiforov.” Mari Katsuki finally replied, controlled, yet barely so. “My brother is to stay at my side for the months to come.”

Viktor’s smirk widened and Yakov’s brow furrowed, while Christophe Giacometti enjoyed the show.

Only a few words in, and the kumicho was already playing with her cards down.

“Such a shame, indeed.”

The smile on Viktor’s lips softened as a geisha came in and served them tea - _all from the same teapot, good sign_ , Chris’s mind registered. _Maybe they’re not really trying to poison him._

Viktor lifted his cup and brought it to his lips. The kumicho and her brother followed suit.

It was Yuuri Katsuki who drank first, and only then Viktor spoke again.

“I’ve heard that Eric Ayers met his tragic end.”

Only the slightest tension crossed Yuuri’s hands, and yet it was enough for Chris’s keen eye to register it.

Yuuri’s eyes met with the pakhan’s. Viktor was sipping on his tea, but Yuuri didn’t need to see his mouth to know that there was no trace of a smile on it as Viktor’s eyes pierced through his very being.

“We did what had to be done.” Mari, beside him, said, and Yuuri held Viktor’s gaze.

_It was_ my _choice, Viktor._

Viktor was smiling again, holding the cup in his lap, and that smirk held so much sly excitement in it that Yuuri wanted to reach across the table, grab Viktor’s tie and pull him in into a kiss just to erase it from his face, or perhaps to devour it - _him_ \- whole.

“So, Hisato Katsuki’s killer has finally been put down to rest.”

_My choice._

“Closure was fundamental for us, Mr. Nikiforov, I’m sure you understand.”

“Both my father and I do.”

It was as if the temperature in the room had suddenly dropped by several degrees, as if to mimic the cold of the Siberian prison camp where Sergej Nikiforov was currently held.

“Things happened between our families, Mari-sama, and we all will bring the marks of this story on our skin.” Viktor offered, and Yuuri’s mind wandered to the tattoo on Viktor’s back, the eagle and the writing under it (‘север’ meant _north_ in Russian, and north was where Viktor’s father was being held -at least this much connection Yuuri could draw), to the ink Mari got on her left arm when she swore her resolve to avenge their uncle, to the fresh scar on Viktor’s neck, to Yuuri’s own skin, still burning with the newly-acquired tattoos that marked his official entrance in the Yakuza’s ranks.

“But, I believe, a new day approaches.”

\---

January 7th, 2017

Tokyo, Japan

Fushin-an Teahouse

06:48

Yuuri Katsuki watched the Solntsevskaja Bratva’s delegation leave the tearoom.

They were all exhausted, he had seen it in the twitch of Yakov Feltsman’s left eye, in the slight slouch of Christophe Giacometti’s shoulders, in the way Mari had rubbed her eyes when the Russians had turned to leave; he had heard it in the shuffling of legs coming from his and Mari’s guards, in the sound of Yurij Plisetskij’s irreverent steps joining that of the other Russians outside the room, a presence none of them had heard when the pakhan’s group had first sat at the table. He had seen it in Viktor’s eyes, in those blue orbs that had never left Yuuri’s own for the whole duration of the negotiations, as the pakhan and the kumicho designed on a map how Detroit’s territory was to be divided among them, once Viktor’s men took care of the last Chinese still trying to hold on to their last neighbourhoods, and the Yakuza wiped out those Nazi punks. The first semblance of an agreement -or at least a non-aggression pact of sorts- between the two syndicates.

And Viktor’s eyes, tired, yes, but always burning, had roamed over Yuuri’s body in a caress and sultry promises as he finally got up from the negotiating table, and bid them farewell -“Until next time”, he had said, because they both knew, this was but Viktor’s opening move- before leaving the room.

And Yuuri had felt his own body heat up in response, because they all knew that Mari would not be able to keep his brother at her side forever, because Detroit called to him, called to them both, called for blood, and blood was now rushing through Yuuri’s veins, pumped by his heart beating a harsh rhythm into his chest, thumping in his ears until Yuuri realized he was running, running outside the teahouse, running after Viktor.

He only realized what he had done when he grabbed Viktor’s arms, felt it under his own, skin on warm skin, Viktor’s pulse beating under Yuuri’s hand, pumping blood into Viktor’s flesh, warm, _alive_.

_Kami, thank you. And forgive me._

Smiling.

Viktor was smiling at him as Yuuri faced him outside the teahouse.

“Viktor.”

“Yuuri Katsuki.”

The name rolled off Viktor’s tongue easily, satin and silver and a promise of fire and blood. And Yuuri’s blood was indeed on fire at hearing his own name cocooned in that voice, and he wanted to ask Viktor to say it again, and again, and again, in-between moans as he had done that night.

But time was running out, once more, timed by the footsteps of Mari and her guards following closely after him. Yuuri’s initial sprint had gifted them with only a handful of seconds.

_It doesn’t matter. He lives. Time... there will be time._

Yuuri fished inside his yukata, ignoring how Christophe Giacometti’s hand had immediately gone to his gun, and took out a knife.

"I have something that is yours."

Yuuri offered Viktor his own knife, the balisong he had put to the pakhan’s throat and then hold on to as he fled from Moscow and rushed to Detroit.

The blade with which he had killed Eric Ayers.

Viktor’s hand closed over Yuuri’s own, wrapping Yuuri’s fingers back around the knife.

"You have much more of mine that just a knife, Yuuri Katsuki. However, it's nothing you can give me back."

Over the thumping of his heart, Yuuri could hear Mari and her men closing in. He swallowed.

"I see. Is it... something precious?"

Viktor took Yuuri’s other hand, brought its palm to his mouth.

"Very."

_My heart, Yuuri. My heart is in your hands._

"You must make sure it is not mishandled, then."

Viktor just looked at him.

It was Yuuri who stepped forward, brought a hand to the back of Viktor’s neck and pulled their bodies together, separated only by their joined hands on the butterfly knife, as he whispered in Viktor’s ear.

"So... _Stammi vicino_ , Viktor."

Once more, he felt that smile blooming on the pakhan’s lips.

"Anything for you, _zolotse_."

_Hate me_

_Break me_

_Let me feel as hurt as you_

_Push me_

_Crush me_

_But promise me you’ll never let us go_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was never supposed to be a long chapter, just an epilogue to wrap things up... for this part of the story. This AU is meant to become a trilogy (IF I manage to hang in there and finish writing it, but I really want to!), plus I have a couple spinoffs I'd like to work on. So, stay tuned! And perhaps hit me on Tumblr, if you'd like to discuss anything!  
> You cand find me at [@vik-mombuchika](http://vik-mombuchika.tumblr.com/), and our beloved Living Legend at [@thepakhaninstpetersburg](https://thepakhaninstpetersburg.tumblr.com/)  
> Plus, for those of you who'd like to see me attempting to cosplay as Viktor, you can find me on [Instagram](https://www.instagram.com/vik_mombuchika/)and [Facebook](https://www.facebook.com/valeria.l.butti). Btw, I have LuccaComics coming in a few weeks, if by any chance someone of you is in Italy and will be joining the con, I'll be there as Mafia!Viktor most probably on Friday and Saturday (young!Viktor actually, participating to the YoI rally in the afternoon).  
> Finally, for those of you who'd like to know a little more about how Viktor became pakhan, [ this ](https://archiveofourown.org/works/14662440/chapters/33873690) is a little prequel to this story I had already written!  
> \---  
> Lyrics from:  
> Eurielle - Hate Me

**Author's Note:**

> * Kumicho: boss of the Yakuza  
> * Solntsevskaja Bratva (B: one of the syndicates falling under the label of "Russian mafia"  
> *Pakhan: a boss of the bratva  
> \---  
> @ Raina: if you recognize where the Blue Nautilus comes from, I owe you a beer.  
> \---  
> I'd love to hear your opinion on this story, your comments, your thoughts, anything really. I'd love to hear from _you_! If you'd like to chat, you can find me on Tumblr (@vik-mombuchika) or Facebook (Vik Mombuchika). (Yes I am THAT original with aliases). PLUS, @thepakhaninstpetersburg is the dedicated RP blog I created for this Mafia!Vik. You're all more than welcome to come pester him!


End file.
